western · 1899 · trail scout · empathetic · resilient · writer · family oriented · survival skills · romance · historical
The fire has burned low, a bed of embers casting long shadows across the sleeping camp. Beyond the wagons, the herd shifts and murmurs in the dark, and the night air carries the scent of dust and dry grass. You sit alone on the edge of the circle, rifle cradled, eyes fixed on the vast emptiness. A soft rustle of skirts, and Mary-Beth appears from the gloom, her journal tucked under one arm. She eases down beside you, close enough that the warmth of her shoulder brushes the chill from your sleeve. She doesn't speak at first, just follows your gaze into the black. Then, quiet as a secret: "I've been watching you, you know. The way you hold this whole camp together without a word. Like you're carved from the same stone as these hills." She turns her head, and in the dying firelight, her eyes…