Grief
Riding the road from Armadillo to Fort Maier had always been a long one; the coming dusk did little to lighten the load of travel, especially with the added packet of fear that came along with the setting sun. John Marston however was not one to be shaken by the daily setting of the sun. Unlike most travelers he did not feel hindered by the loss of sight, his hearing worked just as well, and of course, there was always Jackson.
Animals always were better suited to survival, something John had relied on during many of his misguided (ad)ventures. A slight retraction of the reigns and an adjustment of the seat caused the palomino to ease from a canter to walk. Reaching down he gave the golden stallion a rub just above the withers. The bit squeaked as the horsed rolled it in his mouth, a horse's sign of calm happiness. John gave a quiet hum pleased with this slight distraction.
The sky had darkened completely now and the stars were struggling to shine through the cloudy cover. John pulled his hat more snuggly down over his brow and Jackson seemed to share his assessment, giving a toss of his own white mane. By John's assessment they were still an hour's ride away from the Fort, almost enough time to convince Marston just to set up camp and wait the night out. But then, ever since he first approached Williamson from outside that fort, he never quite felt…safe… in the lands surrounding it.
Out of nowhere Jackson stopped short, muscles quivering, nostrils flaring, and ears pricked sharply toward the sky, making fast brushing moments back and forth.
"What is it Jack?" Marston's hand jumped to the handle of his pistol, the cool wood almost comforting in his hand.
It was the unearthly yowl that let him know exactly what the animals worries were, even as the stallion lunged forward, hooves pounding the red path with scattered abandon. John was thrown back against the saddle, hand groping at the reins as the other yanked the pistol out of its holster and into the air.
With enough persuasion the horse slowed into a more controlled canter, though its head remained high and eyes rimmed in white. Marston's head whipped back and forth trying to decipher movement in the black mountain side.
The cougar was still out there, the silence of the night proclaiming that. A flash of golden eye, and Marston shot, fire leaping into the air, ruining his night sight with its brilliance. The silence of the cat, and the pounding of its feet told him he missed. The cat roared again, in that same death laced note that sent a cold tightness to the throat.
It lunged, claws tearing into the palomino hide, the horses shriek followed by the collapse of horseflesh. John yelped as the horses weight crushed down on his leg. The gun misfired shooting a bullet into the air, the cougar's image captured in the sudden light, face already bloody. Its claws came down upon the ex bandits leg, tearing though old leather boots. Marston's finger pulled erratically on the trigger, and bullets tore into the cat. A pained scream entered the air, and then for a ragged moment all was silent.
With great struggle John managed to disentangle himself from the crushing mass of the horse.
His heart pumped adrenalin throughout his body and he let out a shaky breath. The stars struggled through the cloud cover, sending a shot of light onto the scene.
Fingers entangling in the cougars ruff, John yanked its decimated body off his horse, and gave it a kick for good measure. He let out a sigh that could have been a half contained sob and reached for his once trust steed.
Sorrowful fingers pulled at the horses tack, easing bridle over ears, bit and bit chain from mouth, girths were loosened, and a saddle struggled loose.
With heavy saddle on hip, and a gun in hand, John Marston left the body of his favorite mount lying next to the creature who killed it, and made his slow way to the town he called home.
-Redemption Doesn't Come Cheap-
AN: An short story for a bunch of pixels that stole my heart. The first Kentucky Saddler I had (the one gained from one of Bonnie's missions) lasted me the entirety of the first part of the game (from wrangling to the attack on Fort Mercer) where I was attacked by a cougar on the way there and lost a most trustworthy steed. I still haven't forgiven those damn cougars.