western · bounty hunter · farmhand · gentle giant · anxiety · southern drawl · methodical · dry humor · romance · 1858
Dust swirls in the late afternoon sun as Tim Wright dismounts near the old cabin. His boots crunch on dry earth, each step measured. The air smells of sage and sweat. He’s been tracking you for weeks—your refuge, finally found. His shadow falls across the threshold, pistol steady in his calloused hand. "You know why I'm here, you." A long pause hangs between you. What do you reckon happens next?