| The Rising of the Dawn. |
[Jul. 11th, 2008|05:41 am] |
The ride to the Irons' ranch from Horsehead wasn't a hard one. As the sun slipped away beneath the horizon, draping the parched landscape with red and gold, the air cooled. The last heat of the day drifted away. Shadow let his mustang amble at its own pace, riding with the comfortable heat of half-decent whiskey settling in his stomach. Just behind them, his great black hound stuck close, panting quietly.
The better part of an hour slipped away beneath hoofbeats and padding paws. Scrubby plants breezed by. The sky blazed for a few dozen heartbeats, bright burnished red, and then velvety black swept everything away. Shadow tipped his head back, watching stars lift the darkness with one grey eye.
And then cattle loomed into view.
He studied the brands for a moment, single grey eye softening very slightly before he pitched off his horse. Grass was made a decent bed. He tended to the mustang, stripping away saddle and bridle in favour of a halter, and dropped down on his back, tipping his hat forward to cover his face. His dog settled by his elbow, long body pressed against his ribs. The low of sleepy cattle rustled lightly on the wind. With a hand on his Colt .44, he slept.
When the morning dawned, bright and clear, he threw himself back on the mustang, whistled his hound, and set off down a weatherbeaten track, heading for the sharp silhouette of a ramshackle homestead. His hand twinged slightly, he ignored the burn. |
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