A/N: Here's chapter 2, dedicated to Bothwell Mazero.

I'll appreciate if you leave a review.

Chapter 2 – The Wind Rider.

The Wind Rider galloped into the night, taking me with her. Where we were going, I had no idea, and I didn't dare to ask. First, because I didn't think she spoke my language; second, because if she did speak English and found out what I had done, she might decide that helping me was a terrible mistake. I had, after all, murdered a man.

She could take me to the nearest sheriff, who would surely hang me for my crime. Or she could decide to make justice with her own hands and slay me right away, using the tomahawk attached to her right thigh. Or even worse, she could just leave me there, in the middle of nowhere, to be devoured by coyotes. I was completely at her mercy, and that notion scared me to death.

Yet, one single consideration minimized my fears.

That mysterious, unknown woman had saved my life. If she had wanted me dead, she wouldn't have bothered to help me in the first place.

After about twenty minutes of sprinting uphill -during which I clang to her midriff like a frightened four-year-old-, we came to a halt near a stream. Even without a saddle, she easily dismounted the horse, then helped me down. The caramel-colored mare wasted no time and trotted to the brook to drink water. Kneeling on the streambank, my savior used her hands as a cup and did same.

I shouldn't have stared, but her figure simply mesmerized me. She was tall and well-built, her skin the same color as cocoa, shining under the moonlight. She couldn't be much older than me, and yet her hair was completely white and oddly stylized in a mohawk that ended in a long braid. But her most striking feature were the eyes… hers were of an ocean blue like I had never seen before.

In addition, she wore pants. Not male suit pants like Jason's, but brownish leader pants, probably made from the skin of some mammal she had hunted. A beige cotton tunic covered her upper body, but her neck, arms, ankles, and feet were bare. Her only adornments were one feather earing and a necklace made of small carved bones and colorful beads. She also carried a small leather satchel close to her chest. I decided right there that she didn't look Indian. Not that I had ever met a Native American in person, but I had read a lot about them in my books. The Wind Rider didn't match the description.

"Drink," she suddenly spoke in a thick accent, starting me. I hadn't noticed that she had been watching me as well.

"I-I…"

I hesitated. I had never drunk water from a creek before, and it didn't seem too civilized. But after all the alcohol, opium, and agitation of the evening, I couldn't deny that I was pretty thirsty. "To hell with civilized," I muttered, wondering why I was even worrying about that. It was very unlikely that the Wind Rider or the stars were going to judge me for my lack of finesse.

Hence, I kneeled beside her on the bank and drank. And boy, that water was the most refreshing I remember drinking in my whole life! I gulped it down with such greed that I choked on it, earning a small laughter from my companion.

"Easy, Fire Bringer."

I looked at her face with confusion. "Fire Bringer?"

"Fire Bringer," she repeated, pointing at me, then at the sky behind us.

I stood up to stare in the direction she was indicating. Squeezing my eyes, I could see a grey cloud of smoke on the horizon coming from the exact same way we had come. My gaze followed the smoke until it finally laid on the flames that consumed the farmhouse down the slope. I remembered the rug in the library catching fire and suddenly grasped the magnitude of what I had done.

"Oh no!"

Two crimes. I had committed two crimes in one night.

Eyes lost in the faraway flames, I unconsciously began to tremble. Before I could become too frightened to react, the Wind Rider placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Must go," she urged.

And she was right. We had heard Mr. Shaw's mounted men following us and had only been able to foil them thanks to my savior's riding abilities and the dark of the night. But they were probably still close, and maybe even more eager to catch me after the fire. We needed to keep moving.

We rode towards West until dawn, the moon and the stars telling the Wind Rider which way to go. My left wrist was swollen, and I was emotionally and physically exhausted, but every time fatigue made me lessen my grip on her waist, she would nudge me back to alertness. After about twenty miles travelled mostly in silence, we reached the planes.

A tribe of Native Americans lived there. Cheyenne, as I learned later.

My companion obviously knew where she was. She halted outside one of the many conical lodges that surrounded the camp and dismounted the mare. I made a motion to follow her, but she quickly stopped me. "Stay," she told me, her voice commanding. Then she caressed her mount's nose and entered the lodge.

I could hear her talking to a man inside, but listening in proved to be of no avail since I couldn't understand a word they were saying. In the meantime, Indian children began to approach me out of nowhere. They gawked and laughed at me, undoubtedly surprised by my unusual looks, and didn't hesitate to touch my skirt and arms. One of the girls even stood on her tiptoes to feel my hair. I let them, afraid that if I stirred too much, the horse might get startled and might throw me off its back.

All of a sudden, I heard the Wind Rider yelling. Then the man she was talking to yelled back, and she retorted. I didn't need to understand their language to realize that they were arguing.

The commotion lasted for a few more seconds. Eventually, she exited the lodge, shooed the children away, and rejoined me on the mount's back. A Cheyenne man with long black ponytail followed her outside, stopping in his tracks when he saw me. There was hatred in his black eyes.

"We go now," she informed me in a hurry. As we trotted away, the man shouted at us one more time. It could have been a warning, but it sounded too much like a curse.

"What did he say?" I asked her because she clearly knew some English, but she didn't answer me.

This time we rode for only thirty more minutes, until the yellow prairie landscape gave way to a bunch of unexpected oak-hickory trees. The Wind Rider brought us close to the brook that ran under their shadows and stopped the horse.

"We must rest," she said.

Again, I knew she was right, but how was I supposed to rest? I had no idea where I was, or with whom I was, and the only people who knew me and might come to my rescue were the ones I was trying to avoid. Plus, the sun had already risen, and my wrist was completely swollen by now, causing me great pain. Tired as I was, I couldn't imagine myself being able to sleep any time soon.

She let the mare drink and eat, then sat under a tree with her back against the trunk and her legs stretched in front of her. In the meantime, I scanned the horizon in worry, expecting to see someone approaching us on horse any time soon.

"Sit and rest," she told me again, sounding impatient.

I decided to acquiesce this time. I sat under the shadow of another tree, tucking my skirt under my legs to protect me from the bugs, and positioned my body in an angle that allowed me to see her. The Wind Rider sighed, visibly annoyed with me, and stood up without warning. Before I could realize, she was kneeling beside me with one hand inside her satchel. Fearing for my life, I crawled backwards until my back hit the tree trunk and I could no longer move.

"Silly white men," she cursed, glancing at my face and retrieving a small ceramic jar from her satchel. She opened its lid, revealing some sort of grayish herbal-scented paste inside; then she applied some on my wrist, making small circling movements on my skin. It caused immediate relief of my pain, and I felt truly silly.

"Thank you," I said, suddenly ashamed of how overdue my appreciation for all that she had done for me was. "Thank you for everything."

The Wind Rider nodded at me. "Rest, Fire Bringer."

I slept on the moist grass until past noon. When I woke up, my new friend was skinning an animal that looked a lot like a squirrel. I nearly threw up at the sight.

She laughed at me and voiced something in her language that I obviously didn't understand. I don't know if she would have eaten it raw in other circumstances, but the fact is that she made a small bonfire and cooked the squirrel before offering it to me. We sat cross-legged around the fire, smiling at each other in between bites. It tasted unexpectedly good, or perhaps I was just too famished.

When there were only the bones left, the Wind Rider pointed at my wrist. "Bad man," she said.

I couldn't agree more. "Yes. Very bad man."

Then she frowned, probably trying to recall more words in English. "Bad man… hurt you more?"

I shook my head sideways. "No. Almost, but no."

"Good." Her forehead wrinkled again. "Where… your man?"

She could only mean Jason, I realized. She had seen us together in the wagon, after all. My eyes inadvertently filled with tears. "He's a bad man too."

Noticing my sadness, she squeezed my hand and spoke, "Fire Bringer strong. Fire Bringer survive."

"Thanks," I regarded her with a half-smile. Remembering her argument with the man from the tribe, I asked, "Does the Wind Rider have a man?"

I almost burst into laughter at the outrageous look she gave me in response. "No! Ororo need no man!"

Ororo. That was her name, then. I couldn't start to fathom what it meant, but I thought it suited her. It was beautiful, just like her.

We put off the fire and continued our journey towards West. After riding for a few more miles, we reached a small town called Aurora, where a daily market took place on the main street. It was late evening, and from afar, we could see the salesmen closing their stalls.

Two strange women riding alone into a village couldn't go unnoticed. I panicked, because I didn't know how far the news of what I had done to Mr. Shaw had traveled. I wasn't safe in a place like that.

"Ororo, no!" I cried, reaching around her upper body for the horse's mane in an attempt to force it to stop.

Nearly losing control of her mount, the Wind Rider slapped my hand away. She glared at me over her shoulder and yelled, "Safe, Fire Bringer!"

Desperate, I tried to reason with her. "No! Not safe!"

She mumbled something under her breath and kept riding. But instead of taking the main street, she chose an empty back road where a couple of covered wagons were stationed for the night. We came to a halt beside one of them and Ororo whistled with her fingers.

"Ja?" a male voice responded. All of a sudden, the head of a white man with dark hair, muttonchops, and goatee beard popped around the schooner's cover. "Hallo," he greeted us with a enthusiastic grin.

My first instinct was to dismount the horse and run away, but the Wind Rider held me in place. "Kurt help Fire Bringer," she demanded, giving him the skin of the squirrel we had eaten.

"Fire Bringer?" the man known as 'Kurt' asked in curiosity. He threw the skin in the wagon's bed and dexterously leaped out of the cart to study me. "What have you done, fräulein?"

"No-nothing," I replied, staring anywhere but at him. Talking to that man was probably a mistake.

To my surprise, he took my left wrist in his hand very gently, then questioned me above a whisper, "Who hurt you?"

"Bad man," Ororo answered before I could.

I finally looked at Kurt's face again. His expression bore a mix of sadness and anger. He cursed something in German and carefully let go of my wrist. "I'll help you. Where do you want to go?"

I didn't know how to respond to that. In fact, I didn't even know if I could trust him to take me anywhere.

Ororo decided for us. "Lone Wolf."

"Who?" I asked.

My new acquaintance raised an eyebrow at her. "You're sure, Ororo? It's a long journey, and he's not the most easygoing man to deal with."

She nodded affirmatively. "Lone Wolf help Fire Bringer."

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. "Lone Wolf it is, then," he said as he extended his hand to help me get off of the horse. "Make yourself comfortable in the schooner and get some rest, fräulein. It's a long way to Texas."

My eyes widened. "T-Texas?"

"Ja," he confirmed. "Fredericksburg is far enough for you to be safe; besides, I have some business to do on our way there. By the way, my name is Kurt Wagner."

"Jean Wyn-," I stopped mid-sentence, determined not to use the name of my deceitful husband ever again. "I'm Jean Grey."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Grey. Now hop on before someone sees you."

Mr. Wagner's wagon was filled with all kinds of merchandise, from wooden barrels with salted meat to fabric rolls and toiletries. He pushed some of the items aside and made room for me in the back while he laid in the front, a .44 Winchester resting within his arm's reach. More used to open spaces, Ororo opted to rest under a nearby tree, close to her faithful mare.

It took me a while, but eventually exhaustion suppressed cautiousness and I managed to sleep. I dreamed of fire – relentless flames that engulfed me and consumed everything in my surroundings but myself. Slowly, very slowly, the fire faded away, leaving me naked and alone in the middle of the yellow prairie. Then I felt the wind blowing on my skin, whispering my name only for me to hear it… "Fire Bringer."

I startled awake as someone shook my shoulder. I was drenched in sweat.

"Guten morgen, fräulein."

Mr. Wagner handed me a mug with hot coffee and a piece of bread. I thanked him and ate my breakfast in silence, wondering why in the name of God had he decided to help me, and how was I supposed to pay him in return. After everything that had happened to me, I couldn't avoid but be wary of men.

Outside the wagon, the sky was still dark. I found Ororo talking to the mare in her strange language, their foreheads touching while her fingers caressed the animal's mane. I found the scene moving.

"Hey," I interrupted, prompting the Wind Rider to turn in my direction. "Mr. Wagner says it's time to go."

She nodded in understanding, looking at me sadly. Then she retrieved the jar with the healing balm from her satchel and put it in my good hand, closing my fingers over it.

My eyes welled up. Who was this mysterious, wild woman who acted like an Indian but didn't look like one, and was so brave and kind at the same time? I knew nothing about her, only that I owed her my life.

I had read that Native Americans always gave something in return after a gift; so I removed the golden chain with Saint Andrew's medal that I carried around my neck and gave it to her. "To keep you safe," I told her.

Ororo hugged me, and I hugged her back. Somehow, in a little more than 24 hours I had become more attached to that woman than I had ever been to anyone in my family. She wiped my tears away and said, "Trust Kurt… good man."

Those four words coming from her brought me more relief than any other thing I might have heard.

"I will. Thank you, my friend."

That's how we parted ways, both convinced that we would never see each other again.

Fate, however, had other plans for the Wind Rider and the Fire Bringer.