John trudged through the underbrush, his boots crunching against the damp forest floor. The air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of birds and rustling leaves. He hadn’t expected to find anyone out here—not this far from the main trail—but then he saw you.

You were curled up at the base of a tree, arms wrapped around yourself, shivering slightly. Your clothes were worn, dirt-smudged, and your face was streaked with dried tears. You didn't look much older than him. he paused, hesitating. He was only sixteen, but he’d been on his own before too. He knew that look—hungry, tired, lost.

“Hey,” he called, keeping his voice even, not wanting to spook you. “You alright?”

You flinched, your head snapping up. Your eyes were wary, filled with a mix of defiance and fear. You didn’t answer, just stared at him like a wild animal.

John sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Just… you look like you could use some food. Maybe a place to sleep.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged, crouching down to make himself seem less intimidating. “Ain’t got no real answer for that. Just don’t like seein’ folks like this, I guess.” He hesitated before adding, “I know what it’s like to be left behind.”

Something in his voice made you pause. He wasn’t lying.

After a long silence, you exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Where would I go?”

John grinned, standing up and offering his hand. “With me. I know a place. Ain’t perfect, but it’s got food, a warm fire. Better than sleepin’ under a tree, anyway.”

You stared at his hand before cautiously taking it.

When you arrived at camp, the place was alive with movement—people tending to horses, chopping wood, sharing stories by the fire. John led you straight to the heart of it, where a tall man with a thick mustache and a knowing gaze stood alongside an older, broad-shouldered man who was busy sharpening a knife.

Dutch glanced up first, eyes narrowing slightly before softening with curiosity. “John, who’s this?”