𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 [ 𝘢.𝘮 ]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄. Gratitude

Grassy fields are covered in the crisp morning fog, making it tough to examine more than ten steps before her.

The stallion's feathered hooves are awfully soggy, despite its overheated coat. The horse is galloping through the open landscape, its rider shoving their nose in a poor excuse of a map.

"I think we covered most of it," Lilly informs, blue eyes still narrowed down at the plain-featured sketch.

The man next to her groans, "what'cha tellin' me is that ya dragged me out here for nothin'?"

"I never dragged you out to anything, Colm specifically told me to scout the area," the woman mumbles, bringing her wooden pencil between her teeth.

"And ya couldn't even manage that?" he taunts. 

Pulling at the reigns, Lilly forces the stallion to a sudden halt. Jefferson follows her actions with a roll of his eyes.

"You're here too, so pay some goddamn respect, would ya?"

The man scowls. "Why Colm trusts ya as much as he does, I have no clue. But I swear to God I will find out, woman."

Lilly grits her teeth, tolerance dropping by each second. "Get your grumpy ass some decent sleep before I murder the both of us."

Jefferson grunts, "I ain't takin' orders from-"

"- no goddamn woman, I fuckin' know," she hisses through clenched teeth. With that, she gently kicks Oakley's sides and speeds off towards the local town, leaving the man in the dust of her departure.

When the structure of the small town comes into view, she relaxes down to a moderate trot. A series of curses are grumbled whilst dismounting. Most men in camp get on her nerves, but Jefferson might just have taken the crown.

Why hasn't she left them? Perhaps it's the constant fear of being caught. By the law, or even worse; the Red Hand gang.

Ever since she accepted Colm's proposition six months ago, he's provided her with decent protection and stability; something she wouldn't dare to dream of after her family's death.

Oh, how she misses them. Not a day goes by without them slipping into her already restless mind. Not only does she miss the people she'd grown to call family, but the regime as well.

The Cotheran gang treated all as equals- and didn't even think about killing innocent human lives. A harsh contrast to Colm's boys.

Yet, no matter how much she dislikes his way of controlling, she has no choice but to adjust to it. Either that or being hunted down by either violent outlaws or relentless lawmen. 

The black coat of the stallion feels warm underneath her palm. One of her hands travels along with the short stokes, not caring about the little shedding caused by the gentle action.

It's springtime. The time of year when the birds sing the loudest, longing to attract a suitable mate. The time of year when the sun rises high and mighty, despite the obvious chill in the misty air.

It's also the time of the year when the horses shed, gladly getting rid of their thick winter coat. This means regular cleaning of the light brown saddle she was oh so clever to buy for the pitch-black animal.

She gives him a few pats before leaving him by the hitching post. Furthermore, she makes her way to the general store, knowing she's getting low on essential groceries.

Within the gang, each member has to provide for themselves; ain't got no money, you either leave or die of starvation. Certainly, it occurs that members will share their belongings, but that is strictly against Colm's strategy.