Where The Dusty Trail Ends.

Prelude Flashback- "The Arrest."

A ghost of breath passed her lips as she exhaled, the frigid mountain air killing such warmth and releasing its remains as a cloudy vapor. Each intake brought a sharp stab of pain, making her already dry and frost encrusted eyes water. Each step earned a crisp crunch from the blanket of snow beneath her feet. She made it. The summit towered above her.

As she leaned forward to scope out the past journey, a wave of dizzying nausea struck her. Below the frost bitten toes lining the mountain ledge, the world laid in a dizzying array. Blame it on fear or blame it on the altitude, but within her, her heart staggered. 

A life of "crime"  had led to this tantalizing moment of fates snipping a string. Three months she had run, switching horses here and there to escape being tracked, being heartbroken every time a steed was struck down with a stray bullet. Even now, an occasional side glance was used to watch the tricolored norfolk roadster that impatiently shifted about. This mare, Vixen, had served her well for the past week, However, she knew she could not leave any evidence. Slowly, and with great pain, (as her joints were locking up) she forced a blackening hand to clasp on the cracked leather reins.
Vixen gave an uncomfortable jerk, her nostrils flaring and a hoof stamping down in the snow as another puff of precious warmth left her muzzle. Each second was precious, and the woman knew this. In the distance, hounds called out their bloodthirsty and yet somehow mourning tune. The lawmen were closing in fast.

With a shaky huff, the woman tugged, leading the towering horse to the cliff edge with her. Anxious, Vixen snorted and whinnied, her head whipping about and her hooves nearly bowling the woman over as she reared. In the shaded distance, light danced and the thunder of horses filled their ears. The end had come.
It had to be now. There was no escape.

The barely viable hand caressed the mare’s face, and chapped lips cooed to calm the steed. Eventually, the white of Vixen’s eyes vanished and those clear, blue orbs locked with the woman. It was almost as if Vixen agreed to her terms.

Summoning what fading strength she had, the young lady charged towards the icy edge. Without fear this time, the painted mare followed, an air of battle around her as well. Their feet left the solid earth, and for a split second they walked amongst the clouds. Fallen Angels.

Bullets shot past their heads, the cold air surrounding them as the trees below grew closer. And when the canopy caught them, a herd of elk below witnessed for the first and only time in their lives…
A crimson rain, and fleshy thunder.