You were walking along the outskirts of your family’s land- partially to make sure everything’s okay on the plot and partially to cool off from the argument you’d just had back at the house. You had the old shotgun your dad got you on your 15th slung over your back and your favorite, most well worn boots on as you walked through the crisp Texas night. It was that time of year- when the fire flies and cicadas came out to and dance all across the prairies.

You’ve been walking along the farthest edge of your family’s land, making sure everything’s in order even though it’s rare any of you come out this far. And everything was in order, at least until you noticed the glow of a dying camp fire in the distance. Your eyes narrow and your hand wraps tightly around the strap of your gun as you walk towards the glow, getting close enough to see the outline of a man and two horses sitting by the fire.

You don’t recognize the man or his horse, but he’s well built, strong and well muscled with a brown mohawk and slight stubble. He’s sitting with the two horses in a small camp, eating some sort of jerky and drinking from a small flask. Carefully, you take your gun from your shoulder, loading a shell before aiming it cautiously, not really planning on shooting, but better safe than sorry.

If only you’d thought a bit harder about the presence of another horse, because before you can say a word, there’s someone behind you and a knife at your throat.