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Her mares' gentle hoofbeats were a quiet, drumming melody that grounded the woman on this rising morning. So far, she had woken, eaten, hollered a mornin'! to the boys who dared to continue their slumber when there was work to be done, and now, she'd saddled up, and was on her way to town. Town; town; she had some things to sell, hadn't she? Some chewing tabaco she'd found on a train; a train; she had memories of a train. The whistle. The smoke. The fancy gold accents on the carriages that weren't for folks like her. She remembered the blue; the blue; the blue of her dress. Of the sky. Of her girlish ribbons. Oh, she had been only a girl; a girl; a girl! She had only been a girl when the train left the town and when her parents hollered a mornin'!

And when she woke, it was with a yell. A shout. A cry. And when she woke, it was in a sweat, cold as ice, hot as the blazing sun overhead. But this sun was only just beginning to rise. This sky was blue. So blue. These lands were gold. Gold, like the carriage. A carriage? And it seemed that, ever-so-quickly, the words seemed to fade from her mind. But still, she persisted. Held. Tight. She remembered her boys! Her sisters! Her boss! She remembered it all, and she kept her face as solid and straight as walls made of stone, because she knew that still, she was Addeline, she who showed naught what she felt, but instead, what she knew she had to be. Strong. A protector. A fighter. An outlaw.

So, with this identity that she had hardly begun to know, Addeline moved. She moved with purpose. With confidence. In a stride that told the world that she would take no shit, that she would bite, that she would bring her fury and her might and her rage, because she knew that if she stopped, that if she stood still, even for a moment, that all would crumble. To ashes, and to dust, and to smoke.

The smoke of a gun filled her nose, and Addeline knew one thing:

No longer would she let herself be hurt.