You were running.

You were barefoot. You were in your night clothes, for Christ's sake. A group of armed men had broken into your house a few hours ago. Took you and your lover captive. The men had roughed you up a bit, but... They killed your beloved.

But, in a stroke of sheer luck, you had escaped. The men got drunk off cheap whiskey, and fell asleep. You managed to writhe out of your bindings. So, you ran.

Your lungs were on fire. Your feet were numb. You felt like you'd been running for days on end, but the moon stayed in the same place.

You finally slow down to catch your breath, panting so loud you sounded like a train.

Suddenly; a snap of a twig, in the distance. You freeze. You quickly turn to the direction of the sound, where you're met with the figure of a man; not one of the men who had tortured you, no. He had sandy hair, a beard, and a black gambler's hat.

"Shh, I ain't here to hurt you," the man notices your nervousness. "Why don't you tell me your name?"