It was warm and it was dry. My skin itched and my head beat hard in a rhythmic thud. I couldn't open my eyes, couldn't move.

But I could hear; the steady scrape of a shovel across sandy earth and the weight of it being dumped, time and time again, on a loop, directly above me.

And then there were voices, raised and gruff, and then gunshots. Normally so clear and distinct, they sounded muted and morphed. And then the scraping restarted, but in reverse.

After a while, long or short, I wasn't sure, strong hands reached in and pulled me through a mess of sand and blood and dirt. My eyes opened but I was blinded by the light, accustomed to the dark.

"Hello?" I tried to ask into nothing, but my voice was broken and husky.

The hands rubbed my eyes clean of the sand and the grime. I blinked hard and fast as my sight caught up with the rest of me, and I saw the man who had saved me. A strong man with a strong jaw and cool, sad eyes.

"You've been through quite an ordeal, friend." Said the man, somewhat sympathetically, somewhat sarcastically.

He helped me to my feet and I looked back to the shallow grave that he'd clawed me out of. Three dead men lay scattered about it, who they were, I couldn't say.

"Who – who are you?" I asked, suddenly unsure and afraid. My arm, on instinct, reached for my pistol. But I was dressed in rags and had nothing.

The man looked at me, hard. His eyes screwed up tightly and his brow furrowed, but he shook his head lightly, as if dispersing some lingering thought.

"Well, given the situation, I would say a friend. Doesn't look like you have too many of those." He spat, indicating to the bodies.

"Fr-friend." I said, rolling the word over on my tongue. It did seem unfamiliar.

The man made towards his horse, a beautiful steed that had been bred well and looked after better.

"Don't leave me here. Take me with you. Please." I said, reeling at my own pathetic tone.

"Hadn't planned on it, lady." He said, mounting his horse. "Get on the back, we'll get you into town and get you cleaned up."

I paused, unsure of his kindness – but what choice did I have? We were in the desert and in my current condition, I would be dead by nightfall.

We didn't talk on the ride. Truthfully, I had nothing to say. I couldn't remember what or who had landed me in that grave… I couldn't remember anything. My head still ached – the two had to be connected.

"We're almost here." Said the mysterious stranger as we neared a bedraggled gathering of buildings in the sand. "They call the place Tumbleweed, if you'd believe it."

I almost cracked a smile.

It was a quaint town, run down and under constant threat from a sandy breeze. But it seemed lively enough, there were people milling about the place, even at this late hour.

The man stopped his horse just outside of the saloon, before helping me down. As we entered, I noted the way the inhabitants looked at us both – me, with disgust and confusion, him, with a mild degree of concern and… fear?

The bar tender however gave him a cheery nod as he passed, and I guessed that despite whatever disagreements these people had with him, he was a good customer who spent good coin. He led me to a room right at the end of the hall. It was small and scarce.

"Take your time. Clean up. Meet me downstairs when you're done and I'll get you to the Doctor. He's not much but… he'll do." And with that he went to turn on his heel and leave.

"Wait!" I called, desperate for answers. "Please. I don't know anything. I don't know why I was up there, or who those men were… please, tell me your name."

He hesitated, before deeming it a fair question to ask and a good answer to give. "I'm Arthur… Arthur Morgan." And that was all he said.