You got shot in Blackwater, during the big escape after the failed ferry heist.

You’re laid in a wagon with Molly. Molly is tending to you the best she can as the wagon hastily and rockily moves up the mountains. It’s been a few hours of non-stop moving.

You’re on a bedroll, Molly knelt next to you.

“I know this hurts ya, but’cha need ta try n’ hold still...” She murmurs in that Irish accent of hers to you, her gaze focused. She isn’t normally one to help, but she has to—it’s just you two in the wagon.