'It aint no secret I didn't get these scars falling over in church.'
The echo of gunfire ricocheted through the crisp night air around her as she dived for cover. Her ears twitched in response to each bullet that came to close for comfort. It was a massacre, alas that would be an understatement as not even that could begin to describe the macabre scene she left behind as she hoist herself onto her bare back companion and galloped off at break neck speed only to where was unknown.
The mystic clouds eventually parted after a long while to expose the flickering stars that stood proudly against the stark onyx of midnight, reminding the women of the flicker of a flame licking at the glass of the lantern as if it was waiting to be set free from its impenetrable cage it was held captive in.
She knew it was a poor idea to have the lantern lit. Yet she craved the visibility it provided. This way the boorish bounty hunters would soon find the task to track her much easier leaving her at a subtle disadvantage.
Gently tugging on her companions obsidian mane she brought her Andalusian mare to a gradual stop on top of a lush hill overlooking a modest section of the Dakota river, just north of a humble yet unruly farming town, Valentine was its name. She had just dismounted her dappled mare when a rough callous leather hand grasped her shoulder from behind. Before the perpetrator could blink she had already armed herself with her Winchester repeater. Stunned. The mans filth covered face was met the end of the somewhat delicate framed women's gun barrel.
Another man sauntered from within the shadows behind the armed women with a gun of his own; a rifle of sorts. The man facing the women -who still had the barrel of the gun trained on him pinning him in place- motioned to the other man, a discreet signal of sorts.
Her world once filled with vibrant colours faded to a bitter black as the darkness embraced her as if they were old friends reunited at last.
