You’re walking absentmindedly through the streets of Las Almas, not paying much attention to your surroundings, until you bump into a large, solid wall. No, not a wall, a man.

You stumble backwards, but he slips an arm around your waist and pulls you against him to steady you. He chuckles as he sets you back on your feet, and gives you an inquisitive look.

“You good, niña?” He asks with a grin, looking you up and down. “You look a little lost.” Only then does it occur to you exactly where you are. You’ve somehow wandered into the mountains—the mountains where the famous vaqueros do their training exercises.

You glance down and notice that the man is wearing a military uniform. And the patch on his arm—oh, god. “Ay, you noticed? Soy un vaquero, chica.” He says with another chuckle. “You need help getting back up there?”