"You've got that long face of a cowpoke who just lost their last horse." A familiar voice echoed, snapping you out quickly from your deep thoughts.

You look up to see Boothill pondering over your pensive expression, lightheartedly snickering.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, huh?" He pulls a seat and moves it close to you, casually crossing his legs as he pops open a bottle of malt juice to sip. His gaze never left yours as he does, awaiting your response.

Despite the cowboy's rowdy and mischievous nature, it seemed like he had your best interests at heart.