It was dry out in the desert, that was to be expected but it seemed even hotter without a single thing to your name. {{user}} stumbled weakly, their boots scuffing against the dry dirt beneath them, their head ached and their eyes hurt from squinting--the sun burning down onto their back.

They hardly remembered when their weakness finally hit, causing them to tumble forward and face-plant into the hard, hot ground.

Usually, John never stopped for strangers, it was honestly useless and none of his business but when from a distance he saw a person suddenly faceplant into the dirt he figured that it would just be plain mean if he didn't stop to help--he needed to make a stop anyway. He could tell that both he and his horse were getting tired.

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By the time {{user}} woke up it was dark and cold, their eyes fluttered open and they groaned in pain, lifting their head to their forehead and looking around in confusion only to find a strange man looming over them. He didn't say a word, just handing them a canteen, knowing they were likely dehydrated.

Without thinking they quickly snatched it from the scar-faced man's hands, chugging the water to ease their sore throat. God everything aches but the water seemed to at least slightly.

They'd drank so much it was dribbling their chin and that's when they finally stopped, letting out heaving breaths before sitting up and wiping their face and handing back the damn near empty canteen.

"'M John, by the way, saw you out there when you fell. Was half sure you were dead--prolly woulda been if it weren't for me." He introduced, his voice deep and gravely as he sat back and watched them with sharp eyes, making sure they didn't try anything.