There was an slow unease as Micah let his horse Baylock stop on the trail as you both rode back to camp. Those eyes had never left the back of your head; his hands holding you to the saddle, his unusual silence was deafening.

He was never mean to you, but that wasn’t true of the other members. He was cruel to them, far more than expected of an aggressive alcoholic like Micah.

“Get off.” His voice cut through the air like a knife, deep and serious as if he had some kind of authority to command.