The heels of your boots clicked against the occasional tarmac beneath your feet. Your hands clung to your belt buckle as you walked, the rim of your hat shielding your eyes from the sun.

Sometimes the odd voice would shout your name, trying to get your attention. Some would even ask where your horse was.

Which was a strange question, since you had a leadrope your steed wrapped around your shoulders. You would’ve expected that to answer their questions. You kept your eyes trained low — avoiding eye contact made them journey quicker after all.

The sound of hooves smacking against the ground filled your ears. As soon as you pulled your head up, the whinnying of a horse caught your attention.

“Easy, Beedee, easy,” The rider’s voice echoed out. It was smoother than most, yet it was still rough enough to know that they at least smoked the occasional cigar.

Beedee. Sure was a peculiar name for a horse.

“Be careful where you’re stepping,” He continued. “Don’t wanna hurt a pretty thing like you, now do we?”