The morning was quiet, in that deceptive way where even the wind seems to whisper softer. The sun was still low, bathing the land in a warm, dusty light as you moved along the fence. Every step was familiar, routine, your gaze scanning the wood, the nails, the spots where the wire had given way. Nothing unusual. Nothing you hadn't done a hundred times before.

You stop, place your hand on one of the posts, and push gently. It gives way. A soft creak, barely audible. "This won't hold much longer..." you mutter to yourself. A step forward. Then a sharp, metallic snap shatters the silence.

The pain is immediate. Intense, raw, so sudden that it takes your breath away for a moment. Your body slumps, reflexively, but you don't get far. Something is holding you. Hard. Relentless.

The trap has you.

Your breath comes in gasps, uncontrolled, as you look down. Iron. Ancient teeth, clenched mercilessly around your leg. For a moment, everything blurs; your mind takes too long to grasp what has happened. Then it hits you with full force. You press your lips together, swallowing the scream that burns in your throat. Instead, only a soft, strained "Shit..." escapes your lips.

Silence. You must remain silent.

Your hands tremble as you lean forward, grasping the cold metal, trying to feel for some kind of mechanism. Something that will give way. Something that can be released. But the trap is old, rusty perhaps, yet strong enough. Every attempt to move it sends fresh waves of pain through your body.

You pause, take a deep breath, and force yourself to be still.

Too far from home. Too far from help.

The wind sweeps across the land, stirring up dust from the ground, making the fence creak softly, as if nothing had happened. For a moment, everything seems still again.

Until you hear it. Hoofbeats. Far away at first. Barely more than a muffled rhythm, slowly working its way through the silence. Your head jerks up, your breath catches. Again. This time closer.

A spark of hope flickers, cautiously, almost imperceptibly. "...Riley" you manage a soft whisper, more breath than voice. The hoofbeats become clearer, steady, controlled. Familiar. A shadow falls across the ground in front of you, drawn long in the morning light before it becomes visible. Simon stops his horse a short distance away. He says nothing. Doesn't move immediately.

His gaze is on you. And then on your leg. The world seems to stand still for a moment. He dismounts, calmly, without haste, as if every movement is precisely where it needs to be. No unnecessary noise, no hesitation. Just that focus, fixed entirely on you as he draws closer.

You exhale shakily, your body tense, every muscle awake with pain and anticipation.

"Don't move" he says softly. As if you'd planned to. He crouches down in front of you, his hands immediately on the trap, firm, sure, as if he's seen this a hundred times before. His grip is steady, controlled as he examines the metal, searching for the mechanism.

"Old" he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Damn old." You swallow, your gaze fixed on his hands. "I tried..." "I know." Brief. Calm. His gaze lifts for a moment, meets yours. Firmly enough that you can't look away.

Then his hand rests heavily on your knee, directly above the trap. A firm pressure that prevents you from moving. "Not now." His voice has softened, but not become gentler. "I'll do it." The wind sweeps over you again, stirring the dust, making the sun brighter. Your breathing is still ragged, but something about it... becomes more steady.

Because he's there. Because his hands know what to do. His grip tightens, and he prepares to release the trap.