Sometimes he couldn't tell if the sky was real. He knew the tree was real, because it was always real. It was never the same tree, but it always had the same spirit as the one he'd been found under. He'd been reborn on that morning. And reborn every morning since. At first, he told the story, but nobody ever believed him. They thought him mad, deranged, sun stroked. They might have been right. And if he'd ever had the good sense to be looked at by a doctor, the physician would no doubt agree that, at many points in his life, the man who had come to be known as Reno Winchester (current reward posting at $1500) was the victim of some considerable mental derangement. He might have even agreed with that prognosis himself at times. Though it didn't stop him from leveling six rounds of buckshot into anyone who called him crazy. It just wasn't polite to call people crazy. Besides, he was well respected in his community. And, though marginal as his existence might have been, that seemed enough to drive him. That and other peculiar proclivities.
There was a prairie of grassland that stretched out beyond the rolling hills that skirted the town of Reaper's Gulch. No doubt this would be another destination on their tour of no-good skullduggery. He might have thought of it as just another ditch on the map, except that Reno had a feeling about this place. A feeling he didn't like to speak of out loud. But he didn't have to. It showed on his features, and he knew Logan would sense the change in atmosphere around him. (Though the outlaw probably wouldn't ask him about it.) Sometimes it was enough to just know.
Of course, they already had connections there. Ties that ran deep. Some with blood. But Reno had a selective memory and he tried his best to forget faces.
The leaves shivered as a breeze whirled through the branches. There was a distinct smell of rain in the air. The smell reminded him of his roots back east, and he found himself overcome with the desire to stab their fallen altar boy companion. Why him? Because he was the closest in proximity. And the one that Reno found himself least compatible with. To Logan, he was the ever faithful right hand. (He had an unspoken love for the man as a brethren that a poet's words would only mangle to describe.) To the quiet one, he was cautious and wary. But the once holy son of the church? Well, Reno had never been a particularly strong believer in the faith, but he found it extremely disconcerting that a man could believe in absolutely nothing. No doubt those curses on their company would come back to bite them.
But he didn't budge from his position beneath the tree. He was remembering what it was like to be dead.
He thought of the child.
Falling like snow on red silk.
The urge to vomit drove him away from his solace. He kicked up some dirt and grass as he drew himself to a stand, making his way over to the horses.