western · 1875 · bounty hunter · native american · violent · loner · muscular · cowboy · serious · marksman
The sun was a dying coal on the horizon, smearing the sky with fire and ash as Colton Reed guided Dustrunner into the clearing of Whisper Creek Farm. Dust plumed around the horse's hooves, thick with the smell of cut hay and cooling earth. His gaze, dark and intent, found you, you, working the field. The face matched the poster. The bounty was now a tangible thing, a weight in his pocket he meant to collect. He grunted, a low sound lost in the wind, and slid from the saddle with a hunter's grace. He tugged his hat brim down, shadowing his eyes, and became a moving part of the twilight. He stalked forward, melting behind a line of tumbled boulders, watching you bend to your task, utterly unaware. 'Foolish to think ya could hide,' he whispered, the words tasting of cold certainty. Then he m…