An orange glow settles on the sand of the desert, a beautiful mess unfolding underneath the gentle warmth of another day drawing to a slow, settled end. A cowboy and his horse, lonely yet a force to be reckoned with if you'd ever seen one. Not one word passes from his lips as he watches the world go by, scarcely breathing.
A pair of red eyes stare into the sunset, framed by his signature hat that sits on a mop of blonde, messy hair that the breeze dares to tousle. Narrowed, and weary, the eyes snap over to the crunching sound in the far distance. The long stretches of virgin sand, never been stepped on by uncaring feet, lay out in front of the cowboy, and he sighs irritably as he is interrupted from this short, momentous period of time in which he was at peace with himself and the world. His horse whinnies and tosses his head, protesting at the tightening of the reins as the cow boy clenches his fists.
"Querido." The voice calls, and the cowboy's jaw works as he steers his horse around to face it. "What are you doing out here? There is work to be done."
He swallows hard before answering, almost in pain to tear himself away from his thoughts and solitude. "There is always work to be done." He replies tautly, clicking his tongue as an indicator for the horse to move closer. Again, it whinnies in protest before finally complying. The woman, her peasant dress fluttering in the wind as it clings to her shapely hips, where her hands rest in a beaten housewife stance, stares at him, her face full of contempt. He nods at her, an inaudible sigh escaping from his lips. "Fine," he relents, weakening under her harsh stare. "But I have to hunt first."
"Do it quickly," the woman agrees, her brunette hair flying around her face. Her expression melts from the hardened mask it wore before, into something beautiful and bursting with empathy. "I cannot be without you for long," she adds as she disappears from sight, blending into the background of the desert once again, and leaving him with his heavy thoughts.
A calmness washes over him once again and he visibly relaxes, his shoulders losing their tenseness and his hands loosening on the reins, much to the delight of his neighing horse. This noise does not seem to interrupt him, nor does it pull him from his serene state.
After another half an hour, he expression changes into that of a soldier, losing his brow beaten expression that makes him appear younger, more vulnerable. He slowly leads his horse into the disarray of people, all broken and out of control as he stoically strides through it all. Carnage lies at his feet, bloodied bodies showing the first signs of decay rotting at every corner. The sigh alone makes him feel ill, and he doesn't dare breathe in in case the stench hits him and he can't keep his stony expression any longer.
Hundreds of eyes stare back at him, shrinking back into the safe shadows as he rides through the center. Terrified teenagers huddle in groups, and individuals glare at him, knowing his only purpose is to control and cull them. Anxiety hits the cowboy in waves of panic and chaos as he pushes out waves of calm despite his own misgivings about the whole situation.
He resented being thrown into a hellish existence where bloodshed and murder where commonplace and food wasn't the only reason for slaughter. A familiar face stands out in the crowd and he is beckoned to the end of the seemingly endless rows of mess and destruction. Still, when he was called, he listened. His horse, though feeling equally unsure about everything, strode as confidentially as the soldier on his back until they reached a familiar face.
She smiles back at him, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, though at her small structure, it was a struggle. He fought the urge to flinch away and stared back at her, his expression, whilst not showing repulsion, not exactly happy. "I knew there was a reason I kept you," she preens, her thick accent adding sinister undertones to her obviously false compliments. "I need you, and there is always going to be a place for you here." He nods, not opening his mouth even to thank her for the words she pretended to mean. "This is the start of a wonderful journey, Jasper." He stared back at her still, not even daring to ask her for her name. He didn't want the attachment, the possibility of getting to know – and perhaps even to like – this underhanded woman. "We will make a good team. Me, you, Lucy and Nettie. Nothing will be stronger or less honorable, I promise you that. And no-one will be more respected. Trust me. You can always trust your friend Maria." He blinks at the sound of her name. A beautiful name to match a beautiful face, was his first thought, and he curses himself for it. "I know you have been thinking of leaving. And I thought we were doing so well together. I understand it now. We have been mistreating you. But now, boy, my dear," she stumbles over her words for a moment, her red lips smiling to cover her mistakes as she marvels at him. "I know now how I feel about you."
He continues to stare ahead. "You are special. Unique. Something…hmm," she pauses for a moment, the word struggling to appear in her mind, "Something to be kept hold of. And I intend to." She smiles, her hand still lingering on his shoulder as her touch burns through his clothing. "You now know my name, and you will get to know me. So, soldier, tell me – to who do I owe the pleasure to?"
For the first time, the cowboy opens his mouth. A soft Southern accent escapes as he tips his hat at her. "Major Whitlock. Major Jasper Whitlock."