Two Serpents snaked their way through the scorched red earth of the canyon, their fiery tongues spitting lightning and rain.

The gathering Thunder rumbled like a deep drum, rolling deafening syllables through the air.

The lightning and the rain burled around the Serpents, giving them leave to dance and sing.

And the serpents sang gladly.

Their song called for the rain and the lightning to mate with the Thunder.

The rain, and the lightning, and the Thunder complied, with wanton cries of –

Oh, oh! How the bear yearns for the star! Oh, oh! How he does not know!

A lone figure sat before the maelstrom in a circle of stone, eyes transfixed at the scene before him.

A Coyote observed from a mountaintop peak, seemingly conducting the stormy orchestra. With one long howling note, it brought the tempest to a crescendo.

Then Gale woke up.

It had been a troubled night for Gale. He had broken into multiple sweats throughout the night, and now in the kitchen, he couldn't find any food. For the past few days he had been out on the Western Front, hunting for Apaches.

But his reserves had run low.

He knew of tavern near Santa Fe called 'The Old Boot', and had taken refuge there only once before, many years ago, when the leader of the Apaches had charged him down. He had only just managed to escape by jumping from his horse onto the stable roof, and then flinging himself through a second-floor window. The innkeeper had been none too pleased, but after hearing Gale's tale of reckless heroism, had been more willing to offer him a glass of milk fresh from the tavern's Jersey cow, Beatrice.

Having decided that this would be the direction to take, Gale packed his knapsack and put away his multi-room tent. He leapt upon his appaloosa, Bill, and headed south-east for Santa Fe, and the tavern.

Gale arrived some hours later, and loosed Bill to be fed and watered. "Go, my young lad, go feed yourself and be refreshened. " Bill trotted off.

Bunderburg the barman was pouring a double whiskey for one of his regulars, a rugged outlaw by the name of Haymitch, when the saloon doors swung open and a shadowy brute of a figure stepped into the darkness.

He was at least six foot four, shoulders as broad as he was tall. His head was like a bowling ball. His eyes were sparkling blue and he had a charming smile with perfect, brilliant-white teeth. His chin was a sight to behold – protuberant, broad, chiselled, and truly magnificent. Bundergurg immediately knew that this was a man of stature and respect, and poured him a drink even before he had reached the bar.

"Have a seat," he said gruffly.

The stranger sat, and knocked back the drink. "The name's Gale," he said, oozing masculinity and brawn.

"Will you be staying a while?" asked Bunderburg, suspecting that this was the case.

Gale nodded, "Making it so wow now." He clicked his fingers twice. "Give me your best room. I've been hunting Apaches for the past month."

"Certainly, sir," said Bunderburg, and nodded to the resident courtesan, Effie Dragwell. She giggled behind her fan, and tottered off upstairs.

"And will you be wanting any entertainment, this evening?" asked Bunderburg, turning to the Gorgeous Gale.

"What've you got?" he rumbled.

Again, Bunderburg turned to Lady Dragwell, and she giggled behind her fan, and tottered back upstairs.

Overhead, along the banister of the tavern's gallery, beautiful creatures emerged from the various private rooms.

Peeta sat in front of his vanity mirror, staring morosely at his own reflection. The other girls bustled around him, hysterically giggling and clucking at each other as they slipped on their dancing outfits.

Suddenly, Effie Dragwell came tottering into the room, babbling about some new steak of a man that was waiting for the girls downstairs. She hurriedly shooed her dancers out of the room, shrieking to them to keep the new client busy while she prepared the main event.

Effie closed the door behind the proliferating pack and turned to Peeta. Clocking his expression in the vanity mirror, she placed one hand on her hip and sighed.

"Are you going to do this every time we have a new customer?"

Peeta narrowed his eyes. Turning away from Effie, he began to moodily reapply his face powder. Effie stalked over to him and grabbed his face hard with one ring encrusted hand.

"You know that this is your livelihood," she hissed. "If we hadn't taken you in you would be out in the wilderness, battling coyotes and being rejected by every man, woman, and child in every town you came across, you little slut!"

Peeta tried to hold back his tears, and surrendering he whimpered, "I know."

He sashayed out onto the gallery, throwing his feather boa over his bare porcelain shoulders. With one hand slinking down the banister, he seductively shimmied his way into the centre of his supporting dancers. He gazed out into the crowd of hungry onlookers, each like a fine cut of a pig's hind-quarters. He suddenly felt naked and ashamed, but knew that he needed to keep pressing on.

Moving over to the microphone, he raised one arm over his head and curved his body in one fluid, sensual movement. Lowering his bejewelled eyes as the song began, he opened his stained lips and breathed –

'C'mon Billy….'

The music began, and Gale was forever changed as he stared upon the delicate flower stood before the microphone singing.

He gestured over to Effie Dragwell, who giggled behind her fan as she twittered over to him.

'Her, Ms Dragwell. I want her.'