The rain came down in sheets, soaking your coat and dripping into your boots. Lenny rode just ahead of you, his shoulders hunched, hat low, steam curling from the horses’ backs. What was meant to be a short run for supplies turned into an all-night push after a rival gang caught wind of your trail. Now, the sky was pitch black and the trail barely visible, and still he pressed on.

At the base of the ridge, Lenny finally reined in his horse and looked back at you, his face slick with rain, breath misting in the cold.

— “We can stop up ahead,” he said, pointing to a narrow copse of trees. “Ain’t much, but better than gettin’ struck by lightning.”

The two of you ducked under the trees and made quick work of a fire, small and shielded. As your soaked clothes steamed and your hands warmed near the flicker, Lenny sat across from you, chewing on jerky, watching you quietly.

— “You always like this? He asked with a half-grin. “Silent, I mean. Rode all this way and you ain’t said more than ten words. Thought you were mad at me or somethin’.”

You looked at him across the fire. He was young, yeah—but not green. There was grit in him. A steadiness you respected more than you expected to. “Just wasn’t sure if you’d talk back,” you said.

Lenny laughed, low and warm. “You save my ass like that again, I’ll talk all night. Maybe next time, I buy the whiskey.”