Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Dynamite Entertainment, Rockstar, etc.

It's been a quiet couple of weeks, haven't had the time to pick up Starfield or Baldur's Gate. I will probably finally get around to giving Cyberpunk a serious go when the DLC drops.

ian12091995: You're very welcome.

Last chapter before the big showdown at Fort Cassidy, it's all about preparing for that showdown.

She-Devil of the Frontier

Chapter 9: Horseplay

Wringing his hands nervously, West Dickens leaned against the fence alongside the racetrack as the riders steered their steeds into starting positions. The pageantry of such a thing appealed to the Tonics Merchant's high-class sensibilities, even if he had never witnessed one of the grand events abroad, or even the Kentucky Derby in the east. While the event held in the rocky hills of Rathskeller Fork in the New Mexico territory was a far cry from any of those races, Nigel was as invested in the outcome of the coming competition as any of the more prestigious ones.

While Walker and Sonja had been galivanting about on whatever quests they deemed most prescient, West Dickens had promised a few of his remaining bottles of tonic to a man if he would perform a small favor for him. This acquaintance had gone to the race organizers and registered a late coming participant under the name 'Sarah Hyrkain.' Upon his arrival, separate from a cloak clad Sonja, West Dickens had placed a few small wagers… and most of his money on the incognito redheaded She-Devil.

Looking over his shoulder towards his modified stagecoach, West Dickens spied Walker sitting in the driver's seat, cigarillo in his mouth and repeating rifle on his lap, watching the proceedings with narrowed, steely eyes. Seeing that hardened gaze fall on him sent a shiver up the old man's spine as he quickly spun back to face the race-track.

The track itself was a formidable one, starting on a spot of high ground before snaking into the gulley below, giving spectators a tremendous view of the race. Twisting through the rocks and around the ponderous boulders with a pair of hairpin turns, the course finally arrived on a final sprint up the slope to the finish line before the gathered onlookers. It was a challenging course, or so the locals claimed, but every time he had tried to convince Sonja of that, he had been brushed off by the woman, who was unbothered by what was, to West Dickens, a grand financial gamble.

Doubly so when he remembered whose money he was gambling with.

A flurry of shouts and vulgar words brought Nigel's attention to a group of men scuffling towards the front of the pack, arguing over one thing or another as Sonja trotted past. The woman cast a disdainful glance towards him, despite his best attempts at an encouraging smile: it was likely she was still cross at his insistence that she relinquish most of her arms, though he had only been partly successful, since she had utterly refused to turn over her sword.

West Dickens had managed to get her to don the cloak at the very least, concealing her true identity from the organizers of the race as well as her competition as she took up her position at the back of the pack. The whispering in the crowd subsided when a bookish man clambered atop a few crates and addressed all those gathered, saying, "Gentlemen, this will be a fair race. No shooting, stabbing, cliff-pushing, rock throwing, cactus grinding, neck lassoing, setting fires, or other acts that causes a rider to unfairly lose his way, nor bleed heavily or black out!" Grumbling of malcontent emanated from the field, but no objections were raised. "Get yourselves ready!" called the announcer as he produced a pistol and cocked the hammer back, "Set… Go!" he cried as he pointed the gun skyward and fired the weapon.

The report of the pistol was summarily drowned out by the thundering hooves of the horses that flew off the start line in a cloud of dust. Leaning in, West Dickens tried to follow the competitors as they started down the slope into the gulch below. His aging eyes struggled to discern which rider was Sonja, that was until the hood of her cloak flew back to reveal her vibrant mane fluttering in the breeze behind her as her horse streaked towards the first bend.

Showing her skill, Sonja wove through the throng of competitors, passing two by the time she started to turn. The horse beneath the woman didn't slow its stride as the redhead hung off the side of her saddle for the duration of the bend, and the Hyrkanian had passed a third man by the time she sat upright once more.

The crowd was fully enthralled by the spectacle before them, and the raucous cheers had West Dickens swept up in the enthusiasm. Rocking on his feet, the salesman cheered as Sonja reeled in the next group, gaining ground while the men were jockeying for position. By the time the men had completed the sprint to the rocks, Sonja's horse was nipping at the heels of their own and poised to pass them.

For a brief moment, it seemed as if she would do so with ease, slipping past the trailing member of the trio and right into the devious play the racers had devised. All three men moved together, one cutting off Sonja, the second moving alongside her, and the man she had passed closing the trap to the rear. They worked as one to drive Sonja off the track and out of the race, lest she plow into a fallen cactus that obstructed her path.

Dickens made to shout a feeble warning when the words were caught in his throat, his mouth agape as he watched the Hyrkanian hold her course and have her horse leap gracefully over the cactus. His warning morphed into a holler of "Magnificent!" as she came down on the inside of the next bend and used her position to cut off the men who had just run her off the track.

Now into the twisting slalom, the merchantman found it hard to watch, but impossible to look away as she expertly wove her way through the course with an agility that far surpassed her counterparts. Coming into the last pair of hairpin turns, the redhead pulled back hard on the reins and slipped past on the inside of the corners. West Dickens marveled at the way Sonja stood in her stirrups as she guided her horse out of the hairpins, perfectly balanced astride her mount as it raced through the gently curving bend towards the final straight up to the finish line.

But she had one more man to pass to win the race, and as she came alongside the leader, he reached out for Sonja. The Hyrkanian raised an arm to ward him off, and West Dickens watched as the man grabbed hold of her cloak and yanked. To his eye, Nigel thought the race leader was trying to wrench Sonja from her saddle, but succeeded only in ripping her cloak off, revealing her recognizable attire, and Sonja made every effort to eschew the garment. The man then tried to shove Sonja away, but the effort had no effect to West Dickens' eye.

The next thing the merchantman could see was the man's hand discarding the tattered clothing and reaching for his belt. Squinting from his vantage, Nigel could see the man come back with a handgun, confirmed when the report of a gunshot echoed up from the gulley below. West Dickens flinched back, trembling hands coming to his face, the rest of the crowd, however, cheered at the danger while leaning forward, some raucous young fellows shoving the old salesman aside.

Undeterred, Nigel straightened his waistcoat and rushed to find a new spot to spectate from, and came to a spot where he could see the final bend up the slope. Upon reaching this new position, West Dickens discerned the man level his gun to fire a second shot, but before the gun sounded, Sonja dipped away, throwing off the man's aim as he fired again. Sonja, seemingly unafraid, steered her horse closer to the gun-wielding racer, only now her hand went to the blade on her belt.

Coming out of the last turn and into the final sprint, the Hyrkanian woman made her bold move by charging straight at the man in front at full gallop while charging up the slope. Once she was in arms reach, West Dickens saw, Sonja lashed out, steel shimmering in her hand, and knocked gun from mans hand in an echoing clattering of metal. Instead of following up with her blade, the Hyrkanian instead urged her horse onward, pulling ahead as she crested the ridge.

With the roaring of the crowd reaching its apex, Sonja thundered across the finish line with a plume of dust in her wake. She did not remain to bask in the praise however, Nigel Dickens saw the dismay in the crowd as the victor trotted off as the others came across the line, gawking at the woman as she rode off.

As realization settled in amongst those gathered, the cheers quieted and turned to malcontent grumbles, and West Dickens made haste to conduct his remaining business here. Scurrying up to the race organizers, the charlatan drumming his fingers together as he spoke to the man in charge, "I'd like my winnings now, sir."

The bespectacled organizer went to his books and cash pot, eyes widening as he looked at the book before beginning to withdraw West Dickens' winnings. All around him, ire rose in the other men who watched the Salesman prepare to receive what had been their money, and it wasn't long before some began to voice their displeasure. Their shouts ran together, but accusations of cheating and fraud were chief amongst the cries which West Dickens made every appearance at ignoring. The bookkeeper approached the elixir merchant with his winnings, but before handing them over, came to an abrupt halt, "I trust," began the man as he adjusted his glasses to fix Nigel with a hard stare, "That this is just your lucky day, you did this on the up and up, and you had no idea who was under that cloak."

"I can assure you, my good man, that was absolutely the case," answered West Dickens with a smile to conceal his outright lie. "True, I've had… business arrangements with Sonja in the past, but, believe you me, the She Devil is her own woman, sir. As for me? I am a patron of sport, and a believer in the underdog, as I myself was once one, many years ago."

The half-truths were a true test of his salesmanship, and even West Dickens couldn't prevent his smile from widening ever so slightly as his winnings were passed along to him. "Thank you, sir, thank you. It's been a pleasure," said West Dickens as he counted the bills and ensured the number was correct.

Satisfied, the old man tipped his top hat and turned to return to his stagecoach, but only made it a few paces before he felt a firm grip on his collar that spun the salesman back around. "You don't think you're just going to walk away with our money, you damn, dirty cheat?" snarled a hardened looking fellow before giving Nigel a shove.

Barely keeping his feet, West Dickens was only saved from falling by the strong arms of another burly spectator who was in no hurry to release the salesman. "Yeah, good for nuthin' sidewinder, prob'ly thinks he swindle us like that," growled the big man with a snap of his fingers. "Give us our money you old fool."

A chorus of angry agreements emanated from the crowd as West Dickens managed to pull away from them, but every step he took back was mirrored by the crowd that began to circle around him. Feebly raising his hands, the merchant stuttered on any words he tried to muster in his own favor as he tried to pacify the fury in the others. "Listen, friends, gentlemen, I…."

But another round of snarling roars from the other men drowned out his placations, with one shouting, "I say we tar and feather him, right now!" Wincing as his mind raced to come up with another course of action, West Dickens made to speak when his words were drowned out by the rolling thunder of a rifle's report, Nigel blinking each time one of the gunshots drummed on his ears. Each time he opened his eyes, the old man saw that one of the men before him had his hat blown off, causing them all to stop short as the stared wide eyed at someone behind West Dickens.

Turning back, the merchant saw Walker standing on the stagecoach, smoking repeater cradled in his hands. "Damn," cursed Walker as he cycled the lever action and let out a puff from his cigarillo, "I missed," drawled the Bounty Killer, shouldering the gun once again, "I won't again."

Motion in the corner of his eye had West Dickens turn back and see the men who had been hounding him began to slink away if not outright run from Walker. Not hesitating to beat a hasty retreat of his own, Nigel scurried to the stagecoach and clambered up into the driver's seat alongside Tombstone. "Let's take your… enterprising talents elsewhere, shall we?" intoned the Bounty Hunter.

West Dickens couldn't flick the reins fast enough for his liking.

Reassembling his freshly cleaned Schofield revolvers, Walker heard the door of the rented room open and turned to see Sonja enter. The Hyrkanian was as striking as ever in her scanty outfit as she stepped towards him, and Walker couldn't help but stare at every inch of skin exposed, eyes trailing up until he saw her smirking lips. "I'm just about ready, Calamity Dame, the others here yet?" he asked.

"No, they are not," replied the redhead as she came to a stop and placed a gloved hand on her hip. "I came because I wished to see you," she said, taking the last pair of steps needed to reach the table where the revolvers sat before lifting herself up to sit alongside the guns. Crossing her legs, the woman threw her red mane back over her shoulder and spoke, "We have had so few moments to ourselves these last few days. I have missed the joy of your company, the feel of your touch," she said, taking Walker's hand in hers and placing it on her leg. Instinctively, Joshua ran his hand along her skin, from the middle of her thigh down to her knee and then along the back of her calf. Sonja sighed, eyes fluttering as she leaned forward and spoke in a hungry whisper, "The taste of your lips…."

Recognizing an invitation when he heard one, the Bounty Hunter took up the offered kiss, their exchange starting out shallow and tentative before deepening. Reaching out, Walker grabbed hold of the Hyrkanian's waist and pulled her off the table and down into her lap, where she settled without complaint. Just as his hands began to work their way up her back to the straps of her outfit's top, Walker heard the door of the saloon open below and the muffled shouts of the Marshal's deputies.

"Scathach's tits," cursed Sonja as she pulled away from him, and Walker reluctantly let her go.

"I don't care much about hers right now," drawled Walker, eliciting a surprisingly feminine giggle from the Hyrkanian.

Sonja stood to her full height and offered her hand to Tombstone, which he accepted as he was pulled to his feet. Rising onto her tiptoes, the Hyrkanian whispered into his ear, "Once we have conquered Fort Cassidy and slew Shane Simon, I would greatly enjoy more time with you."

"Happy to oblige, my Red Rose," returned Walker. With that, the Hyrkanian turned and retraced her steps out the door while Joshua enjoyed the sight of her swaying hips until she had rounded the corner. Only when she was out of sight did he collect his weapons and follow her downstairs to join the gathering crowd in the saloon. Walker could see Cooper usher his deputies past the bar and into the back room where the meeting was to occur, followed close behind by West Dickens, strutting like a peacock.

Standing on the balcony overlooking the saloon, Sonja and Joshua saw Seth amble in through the door. His appearance was not much better than when Walker had last seen the grave robber, but he seemed to be in better spirits, giving the couple a jovial wave as he cracked a wide smile and ambled towards the back room. Last to arrive was Irish, the arms dealer already swaying on his feet as he stumbled towards the bar. "One… hic… one whisky, good sir!" slurred Irish as he tossed a few loose coins onto the bar. The bartender, raising an eyebrow at the man, nonetheless collected the offered change and placed a glass on the bar before coming up with a bottle.

Sonja turned and set off down the stairs as the proprietor of the establishment poured a few fingers into the glass. Irish reached out for the glass, but only succeeded in pushing the liquor away from him. When he made another attempt, Irish found his drink swiped up by Sonja, who summarily downed it in one gulp, slamming the glass back on the wooden countertop. "My thanks for the drink, Irish. Now come, we have much to discuss," Sonja declared, grabbing the stammering drunkard by the collar of his stained shirt and dragging him to the back room, Walker shaking his head as he followed them inside.

Being the last one into the back room, Walker shut the door behind him while the Marshal drew the curtains, the deputies each managing to get a pair of oil lamps going to illuminate the room while everyone took their seats around the worn table. Looking at each of them in turn, a foreign warrior woman, a grizzled lawman, his two unimpressive deputies, a swindling salesman, alcoholic arms dealer, and a manic exhumer, Walker didn't feel overwhelmed with awe, but he was confident in their chances to pull this off. "Alright," began the Bounty Hunter, "If we're all ready to start…."

"Before we do, I'd like me a drink," interjected Irish, only for a salvo of harsh stares to come at him from every seat at the table, cowing the drunkard.

"Let's get started," intoned Walker, wresting control of the conversation back, "Since we all know why we're here, and nobody's backing out," he said, pointed glare heading towards Irish, "We need to know if we're ready. Mister West Dickens?"

The merchantman drummed his fingers on the table excitedly before answering, "Very nearly my boy. With the winnings from Sonja's marvelous performance, I've having the last modifications made to the wagon as we speak. The gun, provided by Irish," said the salesman, gesturing towards the drunk before continuing, "Has been fitted, as has additional armor. The wagon, I'm happy to say, will be ready in a few days' time. I shall be ready to embark as soon as it is."

"That delay works in our favor," announced Marshal Cooper, the grizzled lawman leaning forwards. "Over the last week, I've sent some telegrams out, and I've started hearing back. As we speak there are lawmen from four different counties riding to Deming, they'll all help us with Fort Cassidy. The last of them should arrive on Tuesday."

"Then we ride on Wednesday!" declared Sonja, the woman daring any of the men to challenge her decree. When none did, her green eyes turned to the hunched over grave robber, "What say you Seth? Can the brigands be persuaded to allow West Dickens to enter their abode by that date?"

"Should be," answered Seth, "I've gone and gotten back in their good graces, done a few small jobs for them, their special ones, it's why I was able to sneak over for this here meetin,' you see. And don't you worry about them letting in Mr. West Dickens, I've been talking up that drink o' his, dropping hints, all subtle like."

"That's good to hear, Mr. Seth sir," stammered Eli, the oafish deputy taking a small swig from his flask before he continued. "But what if Shane Simon hears about the posse we're gathering. He ain't stupid, he'll think its coming for him and won't let you in that gate."

His words were answered by a round of nods, West Dickens and Irish most emphatically. Walker pondered this, rubbing his chin, but it was the merchant who spoke first. "If I may, I would suggest that we do not need to conceal the arrival of your fellows from Simon, but merely conceal their reason for being here." The man chuckled, mustache twitching, "If we could spread false word, perhaps of an Indian attack to the east, then we could claim the lawmen are here to pick up the train and travel to their aid."

Cooper audibly hummed from his side of the table, and all eyes turned to the veteran Marshal, "I suppose that could work," he mused before turning to his deputies. "Boys," he began in his gruff tone, "I want you to start telling folks taking the stagecoaches east to be wary of the Comanche out on the roads, say we've heard of a new band being out there. Anyone comes to me and asks about it, I'll confirm it. Hopefully word works its way back to those scum suckers in Fort Cassidy, and they won't be expectin' us."

Eli nodded earnestly, and Cooper's hardened gaze fell on a lax Jonah. "Yes sir, Mister Johnson, sir," replied the deputy, spitting out a wad of tobacco before he looked back up, only to find the Marshals narrowed eyes still on him until he straightened in his seat. Only then did the grey-haired lawman turn back to the table and let out a quiet grunt.

"And once we're inside," began Walker before looking to the Hyrkanian, "Sonja and I'll raise hell with the Gatling Gun. That'll be your cue, Marshal, you and yours come charging up to a gap on the wall on the east side. That should get y'all in." The Bounty Hunter looked around the table for any questions, or comments, "Once we're inside, that's when things are liable to get tricky, Simon and his bunch ain't gonna go down easy."

"No, they won't," agreed Cooper, "You better be damn sure that wagon contraption of yours is ready, charlatan. If they go down then it'll be our asses hanging in the breeze."

"My backside will be in the middle of the frying pan, sir," protested West Dickens, huffing and puffing like he was trying to blow Cooper's house down. "I trust that my stagecoach will be suitably up to the task at hand, just as I trust that you all will gallantly ride in to save us after they have been suitably occupied by our Trojan Horse."

Cooper sat back, nodding curtly, but not speaking, and it was Irish who interjected. "Well, that sounds lovely chaps, well thought out, bravo," he said, clapping slowly, "Sounds like you lot have this sorted, so I'll just be going to buy me a drink, cheerio." The Irishman made to stand, but barely made it halfway out of his seat when Sonja's hand lashed out and grabbed his arm, not so gently yanking him back down to his seat. "Now what do yae want, Lassie?" bemoaned Irish.

"I want you to inspect West Dickens carriage, Irish," intoned Walker, causing the alcoholic's eyes to dart to him. Remaining calm, the Bounty Hunter continued, "Make sure that Gatling Gun is set up properly, and the clips are fully charged, as well as show Sonja and myself its proper operation. We can't be having the gun jam or foul on us. Do I make myself understood?" The arms dealer rolled his eyes, shoulders slumping, but nodded nonetheless. "Good, and you'd best do a good job, because you'll be with the good Marshal."

"I will?" asked Irish, his eyebrows mimicking the shape of the question mark Walker could hear hanging off the end of his words.

Tombstone nodded, and he could see the color drain from Irish's face, eliciting a round of muffled chuckles from the rest of the table. Sonja, however, did not hide her laughter, but when it faded, she fixed Irish with a serious gaze, "Mayhaps your revolver will see the full heat of battle this day. Do take care that you remember which end the bullets come from, Irish, I do not wish to be hit by your errant shots."

"Trust me lassie, I got nae desire to hit yae neither," answered Irish, his tone was forcibly joking as he shrunk from the harsh gaze Walker cast towards him. "It was just a wee joke, Joshy, wipe that grim look of yer face, I meant nothin' by it."

"You will get your chance to prove yourself when the battle is joined," intoned Sonja, "Secure the ramparts, once the cowards have broken, we will sweep through the Fort, leave no stone unturned as we eradicate this band of brigands." Her words were that of the brash and bold warrior Walker knew Sonja to be, but the Hyrkanian's eyes suddenly darkened, and her tone lowered. "If you find an old man, clad in ornate robes and speaking in a foreign accent, bring him to me," her hands, Joshua noticed, balled into fists, "Above all, he must not be allowed to escape."

There was a moment of silence, none of the men daring to speak after Red Sonja's declaration. Walker tried not to let it show, but he felt a pang of worry for the woman; he didn't want to lose her to this thirst for vengeance she still carried just when it looked like he might be able to keep her. Pushing that aside, the Bounty Hunter cleared his throat and spoke, "There are a few more details we oughta hash out…."

Sitting on the back porch of the MacLaughlin farmhouse, Sonja looked out at the setting sun and polished her blade. A cathartic ritual the Hyrkanian had long partaken in on the eve of battle, preparing herself and her weapon for what was to come, it also served as a small moment of peace away from the hectic nature of preparations. Indeed, the MacLaughlin Ranch seemed so far removed from the chaos of the last few days, filled with scouting, planning, and practicing that Sonja found it a refuge from her burdens.

The sound of the door opening behind her had Sonja turning in her chair to see Caroline step outside, a box tucked under her arm. "How are you faring, Miss Sonja?" asked the rancher, a smile on her face that, Sonja saw, did not quite reach her eyes.

Setting her sword aside, Sonja replied, "Should I not be asking you such a question? It was not I who endured the tender mercies of those vile brigands." The mere memory of those events had the Hyrkanian's fist clench.

"And it's because of you, Walker, and those lawmen, that I am here to speak of their hospitality at all," returned Caroline as she sat in the rocking chair beside Sonja, idly leaning back and looking out at the orange setting sun. "Sonja, I really do owe you more than I can ever repay, and even if my last attempt didn't go all that well, I think this one might fare a tad better."

Taking the offered parcel, the Hyrkanian untied the bit of twine and removed the lid it fastened to the box, revealing the contents. "So… what'd'ya think?" asked a nervous Caroline as Sonja gazed upon the single, instantly recognizable item inside the container. Running her hands over the soft yet sturdy brown fabric, the tone of her leather belt, the Hyrkanian grasped the oddly shaped hat and lifted out of the box.

Holding it by the wide, flared brim, Sonja looked it over with a keen eye before giving a nod of approval, "It feels… strange, to have one."

"Ah, hogwash, that hat was made for you, Miss Sonja. Go ahead, put it on, it'll look better if you're wearing it than holdin' it anyhow," insisted Caroline, and Sonja could not find it in herself to refuse the request.

Donning the Stetson, the She-Devil found it fit snugly on her head, and the wide brim ably kept the rays of the setting sun off her face. It's weight, while noticeable, offered the Hyrkanian comfort as she leaned back in her chair and found herself unable to refrain from smiling when she heard MacLaughlin speak. "Now you look like you belong out here on the Frontier… from the neck up at least."

Sonja's smile faded as quickly as it had appeared, her mind dwelling on one word: Belong. Thoughts swam through her mind, chaotically piling up faster than the Hyrkanian could sort through them. Sonja's plight must have been telling, as Caroline spoke once more, the rancher woman's words a suitable distraction from her inner turmoil. "You probably don't feel like you belong, but that's what great about this country, there's enough of it out there that you'll find your place, I promise you that."

"Your words are a greater comfort than you know, Caroline MacLaughlin," acknowledged Sonja, "Tomorrow, we ride on Fort Cassidy, there is certainty in what will happen upon our arrival. After that? There is little to be found. I cannot help but wonder what my future holds."

"Well, far be it from me to presume to know what it must be like to be a She-Devil," drawled the blonde, her tone wry, "But in my life, I know there ain't much certainty in it, don't see much use in worrying about it. If it is certainty you want, however, I can offer you two things that are certain?"

Intrigued, one of the redhead's eyebrows arched up, "And, pray tell, what are they?"

"The first is a promise, from me to you, that you will always be welcome here. After tomorrow, no matter what happens, take all the time you need to decide what y'all are gonna do next," said MacLaughlin. "The second is… let's call it women's intuition, about your relationship with a particular enigmatic gunslinger."

"What of it?" asked the Hyrkanian, bristling with the words.

"It's just that I promise that he wants you to stay with him, I see that look he has for you. That's a man well and truly smitten, Sonja, and not just with lust. If you have a go at making it in America, you won't be doing it alone." Caroline paused, and Sonja felt herself scrutinized by the American woman before she spoke again, "He should be around here somewhere, Sonja. I think he'd appreciate your company right about now."

Sonja pondered that for a moment; it was the night following a battle that was spent in good company, reveling in their victory, ale in hand throughout the celebration that was sure to be taking place. The night before, on the other hand, was often a solitary one, but that was due to the solitary life she led. It was only now that she had someone she could call a partner, a true friend, and a lover only a short walk away. "As I would his," agreed Sonja as she stood and sheathed her blade, "I bid you good night, Caroline MacLaughlin, I hope to see you upon my return tomorrow."

The rancher smiled softly, "I'll have some whiskey ready for you to celebrate with," she assured before Sonja gave her a single nod and strode off in search of the Bounty Hunter.

Her search lasted far longer than expected, the sun had set and the first stars began to twinkle in the night sky when she spied a faint red glow atop the newly built MacLaughlin barn and climbed up to investigate. It was there she found Walker reclined against the roof, puffing idly on his cigarillo until she stepped foot on the barn, causing him to look to her, the glow of his tobacco illuminating the surprise on his face. "Sonja," he sputtered, sitting up, "You…."

"Wished to be with you this night," finished the Hyrkanian as she picked her way across the rooftop and lay alongside the Bounty Hunter. "Simply say that you would prefer to be alone, and I will depart, Joshua, but I do not believe you will."

To her relief, Sonja saw the man relax in the corner of her eye, "I'm not," he admitted quietly. Now that she was here, Sonja found words hard to form, and the pair soon entered an understanding quiet until it was Walker who broke it. "I never told you this, and I'm kinda ashamed of it, but I'm glad you're here, with me. I didn't want to leave you behind in Hyboria." Sonja turned to look at him, but saw that the Bounty Hunter had averted his eyes, shame lacing his words. "I never could have asked you to leave your home and I won't stop you if you wish to leave, but… now that you're here, Sonja, I don't want you to ever leave."

Her heart fluttered at his words, and the Hyrkanian's hand reached out of its own accord and snaked down the man's arm to find Walker's hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze, the Hyrkanian thought a moment before answering, "You have nothing to fear, Joshua," she whispered, sliding up alongside him to be that much closer to her lover, "My only intention with Gath tomorrow is to run him through with my blade. His foul corruption cannot be allowed to fester." Taking a breath, Sonja reached around to coax Walker to meet her gaze as she said, "Beyond that, I wish to remain at your side."

Under the moonlight, Sonja saw emotions flash across Walker's face until he settled upon a slight smile that nonetheless lit up her night. "You'll receive no complaints from me, my Red Rose. These last few weeks, with you, they've been good ones. But they've all been for tomorrow Sonja, we need to get through it. After that? Well…" he said, looking back up at the night sky, "Hopefully there'll be lotsa nights like this one, under that sky, you and me like this."

"I look forward to it," returned the She-Devil truthfully, looking up to take in the stars, not recognizing any of the formations she had grown accustomed to in her native land. She made to ask Joshua about them, but she saw that his face was not one of happiness, but one that spoke of distress. "What troubles you so, Joshua?"

Startled, Walker sought to dismiss her, "It's nothing, Calamity Dame. Just some thoughts I'm havin'."

"Of what sort?" she pried gently, not willing to let the matter drop. "A wandering mind does not aid one in battle."

"No it don't, I suppose," he drawled before audibly exhaling. "I've spent a lotta nights like this Sonja, only they've all been alone. But this? With you here? It feels like it this is how it always shoulda been."

Smiling unabashedly, the Hyrkanian replied, "Aye, I hope there's to be many more like it."

Closing Notes: Next up is the big battle at Fort Cassidy, it's been a long time coming and I'm really looking forward to it.

Until then, Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta out.