How often at night, when the heavens are bright,
With the lights from the glitterin' stars,
Have I stood here amazed, and asked as I gazed
If their glory exceeds that of ours?

-Home On The Range

Techno said it would take around two weeks to reach the shaman.

Izrail groaned. Two weeks spent with these two would feel like an eternity.

"What? You got somewhere else to be?" Phil asked.

Sadly, Izrail did not.

After spending the rest of the day packing saddlebags and gear, Izrail laid on Phil's living room floor, exhaustion weighing in his head but sleep far away. He rolled over to face the window, the moon shining in through the dusty glass.

He'd survived another day as a human. Another day without his power and his glory and his joy. How many more days did he have left? Could he hold out that long?

Izrail honestly didn't know, and it kept him up at night. Ever since he'd lost his power, he'd been so confident that this shaman could restore it. He refused to think that this plan would fail.

Until Phil came along.

Izrail hated the way Phil looked at him. Like some weak, clueless, naive, child that needed to be coddled and handled with care. Phil believed that the shaman was a hoax and that Izrail and Techno were fools for biting into his story. Still, he wanted to come along. Phil would never pass up the opportunity to ride in the west.

Phil's cynicism chipped away at Izrail's already fragile hope. The fears and doubts that Izrail managed to ignore for so long crawled into his head and now he struggled to block out their screams. As he watched the moon outside, he forced them to the back mind where they festered in his gut.

If Izrail didn't have hope, he didn't have anything. He couldn't risk losing it.

Izrail sighed and rolled back onto his stomach, once again hating his stiff body. One more month. He just had to hold out for one more month.

Techno let out a horrific snore next to him and shifted under his blanket. Izrail rolled his eyes. If Techno could survive this long as a human, so could he.

They left with the sun rising and the desert blue and gray. The lizards and rattlers huddled in their holes and the moon still hung in the empty sky. Cool night air clung to the rocks and had yet to evaporate into the air. Izrail liked riding at this time of day when the desert shed its darkness and had yet to embrace the heat.

Izrail rode a few paces behind Phil and Techno, stroking Bluebell's mane. He felt out of place when he stood between the two. Techno and Phil had known each other longer than Izrail could imagine.

Izrail adjusted the stetson on his head and vowed to stop at the nearest town and get some new clothes. Phil had loaned Izrail some more of his shirts and pants, and though they weren't as itchy, they still didn't fit Izrail. They hung baggy on his arms and legs and the blazing boots still pinched his toes. But he had to wear them because his stupid human feet were delicate and blistering.

They rode due west, deeper and deeper into the wilds. The plateaus in the distance obscured the horizon and cast purple shadows onto the orange ground. Sandstone rocks and pillars weathered by the wind and the sun spiraled into the sky, defying gravity.

It only took a few hours for Izrail's stomach to grumble and his legs to ache from sitting in the saddle. Techno and Phil, more experienced riders than Izrail could ever hope to be, showed no signs of wear. Izrail refused to be the weak link of the group and suffered in silence.

Finally, they stopped to rest in the shade of a yellow-striped mesa. Izrail slipped Bluebell some water before tearing into the flavorless jerky that Phil had to offer. Izrail grimaced at the bitter taste in his mouth and sat up against the cool rock.

Phil took a swig of his canteen. "Let's make it to Grubedge by tonight."

"We're makin' good time, Iz!" Techno smacked Izrail on the back. Izrail burst into a coughing fit as the air flew out of his lungs. Ignoring his distress, Techno continued, "Good job on that horse!"

Izrail let out one last cough and pounded on his chest. He hated having a body.

Izrail lay on his back and looked up at the stars.

They took his breath away.

Streams and fountains of glitter and gold strung together with nebulae of violet and blue with the vast darkness hovering between them that echoed the music of ancient light and matter coalesced into a blanket that spread from one horizon to the next branching out into never-ending eternities. When Izrail imagined diving into the iridescent infinity, it almost made him feel at home.

"They sure are beautiful out here, ain't they," Phil said.

Izrail turned to look at him. Phil's head was propped up on his saddlebag, his hat resting on his chest, the stars filling his eyes. He smiled softly and Izrail knew that he was in love.

"You asked me why the humans come out west," Phil said. He nodded at the sky. "That's is why. This is where the universe shows its glory."

Izrail traced the stars with his finger, connecting them all together. "It makes me feel… Small."

When he had his power, Izrail looked on the stars with arrogance blazing through him. He too knew what it felt to burn and glow and thrive in the dark. With golden fire curling around his fingers, he knew that he outshone the stars.

Now, they looked so powerful in their vastness and multitude. They reigned over an infinity that Izrail couldn't even grasp. Here he lay, a speck on the desert ground in the middle of the west, insignificant and harmless and mortal.

Izrail thought that should scare him. But… it didn't. He only felt awe and a strange sense of peace that the universe would continue on and on forever and he didn't have to bother with something as grand as that. He could live his little life down here and be free to wonder at the beauty above him. With the infinities spread before him, Izrail's problems and fears and worries didn't seem so big.

"After being big for so long," Phil said, "it's a relief to be small."

"Would you two shut up so I can sleep?" Techno grumbled.

Phil rolled his eyes. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Insufferable? I'll show you insufferable—"

"You have, plenty," Izrail cut in. "Shut up and sleep."

Miles and miles of trail passed under Bluebell's hooves and Izrail's boots. The blood-colored desert drifted behind away and the mountain foothills rose to greet them. The peaks towered high above, spotted with snow and ice and casting purple shadows onto the land. The grasses and sage and juniper brushed up against Izrail's feet and the silence of the wilderness sunk into his head. Eventually, the trail vanished entirely and that's when Izrail knew that they had left civilization behind. He, Techno, and Phil were the only living humans around.

He felt the west shaping him, caressing him, weathering him until he could hardly recognize himself. The wind molded his hair and the sun painted his eyes and the mountain air galloped in his blood. Callouses covered his hands and feet and his heart beat in time with the earth below him.

When the trees and mountains parted into meadows and plains, the three raced their horses faster than the wind. Tears streamed from Izrail's eyes as he urged Bluebell on, faster and faster. Her flanks heaved below him and her hooves pounded on the dry ground and the world streaked by in a mess of color and grandeur and Izrail's lips pulled back into a smile and he flew.

The wild never ceased to amaze Izrail. He gazed at the vultures circling in the sky, followed the bears hunting along the river, watched the jackrabbits nestled in their burrows while the boundless blue sky held them all together.

He learned to shoot and learned well. By the end of Techno's lessons, he could shoot a bullet through a spade on a card. One of Techno's revolvers now hung at his side. Even so, he wasn't allowed to go hunting with Techno and Phil.

"The animals can still sense the death on ya," Phil had said. "They'd smell you a mile away."

So, Izrail sat at the camp, mending clothes or gathering wood or boiling water or whatever other menial chore Phil could think of. Izrail practiced the Native that Techno taught him and learned to sing with the birds.

When Izrail looked at the stars at night, he tried to think of home. Instead of his home in Death's realm, Izrail thought of snow-topped mountains that smelled of sagebrush with nothing but the empty blue sky holding in the eternal wild. He struggled to remember his place in the afterlife and all the colors there.

The thought scared him. Did he trek all this way for nothing? Had Phil been right all along? Could he really fall in love with the west?

Izrail felt himself being torn in two. As he relished in the fresh air and his spirit soared with the mountains, he longed for his shadows and his fire. He didn't know what to choose.

The ground shook and rumbled underneath Izrail, snapping him out of his thoughts. Bluebell whinnied and pawed at the ground, her neck hinging around as she tried to find the danger. Izrail sat up in the saddle, spotting Techno at the top of a rise.

"Izrail! Phil!" Techno shouted. "You gotta see this!"

Izrail stroked Bluebell's neck and whispered to her until she calmed down enough to trot up to Techno. They crested the rise and Izrail almost fell out of his saddle.

A herd of bison marched in front of them, their weight rattling the earth herself. Their horns curled wicked sharp in the sun, their yellow eyes ancient and wise and powerful, their shaggy shoulders towering high above Izrail. For a second, Izrail thought he was in the presence of gods again.

The herd seemed to be never-ending, as infinite as the stars themselves. Izrail stared at them, open-mouthed, awe and wonder filling up his chest. The beasts shook their gigantic heads and called out to one another, a sound the wrenched Izrail's heart.

They watched the bison march on across the prairie, the spirit of the west itself hovering above the herd like a fog. Long after the herd had left, Techno, Phil, and Izrail stared in silence at the empty valley. Even their horses stood in quiet reverence.

After a few minutes, Phil whistled low and long. "That was incredible."

Techno grinned from ear to ear. "I'll say." He nudged Izrail. "What d'you think? The west a little cooler than you thought?"

Izrail smiled. "It's amazing."


Quackity paced his office, the floorboards screaming, blood stained on his shirt. His knife sat on his desk, the light of the rusted sunset cut through the dirty window, a problem rotted in his gut.

He needed that book.

No matter what Quackity did to Dream, the necromancer wouldn't give up the book. Every time Quackity went in the cell, he'd come out empty-handed, fury boiling under his skin until he felt ready to explode.

Sam wasn't any help. Dream was secure behind bars, another outlaw off the streets, and Sam wore his badge a little prouder. As long as Dream was in prison, Sam's work was done. He could care less about his supernatural powers. Even after Dream's attempted resurrection, Sam refused to help Quackity find the book.

Quackity was alone.

Quackity stopped his pacing to look out the window. Yucca Falls' main street emptied with the light in the sky. The shoddy buildings drooped as if in embarrassment, a cluster of tumbleweeds rolled down the street, the slowly appearing stars barely glanced at the town before moving on to greater and grander things.

Quackity had outgrown this town long ago but it took an angel to help him realize it. Quackity smiled to himself and grabbed the still-dirty knife off his desk. He felt his pocket for the prison keys and stepped out into the night.

If he could kill an angel, Quackity could make Dream talk.


Tommy leaned back in his saddle and watched the clouds drifting across the sky. He swallowed down the tears in his throat and bit his lip to keep it from wobbling.

Sam's warning to never return to Yucca Falls rang in his ears. As he had left the prison, his heart dragging behind him, Quackity said, "Just give it up, Tommy. Let me and Sam deal with Dream."

You need to learn when to quit! Give it up!

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. From the moment he'd woken up, alive again, he'd chased after Dream with vengeance pushing him along. He'd lived with only the clothes on his back and the anger in his stomach and not a cent to his name. He rode across the west and back again and never lost the fuel to his fire. With gritted teeth and clenched fists, Tommy swore to the gods that he would kill Dream. He could scarcely imagine his life beyond the endless hunt.

And here it was.

As Yucca Falls disappeared behind him, Tommy vowed to return. He could still kill Dream. He just needed a plan, maybe some backup, a miracle—

I'm so tired.

Tommy slumped forward and leaned against Henry's neck. He cringed as he remembered his attempt to kill Dream in the jail, how stupid he'd been and now—

He was done.

He couldn't do it anymore.

Tears spilled down Tommy's cheeks as he cried. He'd failed. He'd given up. And all that weight on his shoulders cracked and crumbled and the pieces tumbled down onto the desert ground. Tommy's lungs shuddered as he breathed again.

Maybe, in the future, his day would come. Maybe an older, wiser, and stronger Tommy would do what he never could. But for now, all Tommy wanted to do was rest.

Tommy shot up, blinking at the dark prairie. Henry stomped at the ground, nickering and tossing his head, agitated and afraid.

Tommy grabbed his gun and peered into the black night. All he could see were the stars and the vague shadows of the mountains. No coyotes, no bandits, no bears. His heart thudded in his ears and adrenaline crashed in his veins.

Henry let out a shrill whinny and Tommy jumped to his feet, his gun held out in front of him. Footsteps sounded behind him and he whipped around, the barrel of his gun aimed straight for the intruder's face.

A figure stepped towards Tommy's camp, smelling of frost and wet earth, a strange glow surrounding its head like a halo. Chills shot up Tommy's spine and goosebumps crawled on his arms. A ghost? A demon?

Tommy clenched his gun tighter. "Don't get any closer or I'll—"

The figure laughed. "Are you going to shoot your own brother, Tommy?"

"Wilbur?"