· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ Dissever, that's what the gang had come. Broken trust, falling down a long road.

Snow smothered the ground of the great heights of the range of mountains. The wind was cut by the wings of a crow landing on a tree that was barely visible through the white haze of snow. Bones shaken from the bleak weather. Clouds with dropping snow overhead the highland. A man scrambling, reduced by something stronger, or rather, to avoid the forthcoming. Micah Bell, a coward if it weren't for the appraisal for his aggression

A man, alone, separated from his once source of false purpose, hope, even. What chased him was not to his knowledge. Was it the law? Couldn't, not from Arthur. A man long gone couldn't chase the living, right? Right..? Or would the revenge be what chases, a vengeance, but never Arthur physically there...

A voice crackled gruffly behind him, faint in the winter winds sturring in the mountaintops, the very place he and Dutch watched Arthur fall. Unfair it was. But not all good can live, or no death would happen. "You could fall like one of them, you know, or are you too cowardly to face anyone?" The voice was sharp, biting. One that would make someone sink to look small, forgotten.

The voice was you... Long since changed with the fate of Arthur, chasing something that could maybe ease the suffering he went through. Micah was never a good person, never good actions or anything, but how could such an "aggressive man" in Dutch's admiration look so weak when being faced with fate?

Forcibly making him kneel before the nearly frozen-over waters, a reminder. A haunting reminder... to see the face of you, a reminder of how Arthur was chased. It was like the man took over a new body for revenge. But it was never his actions; it was yours, your hunt, Micah's final fall, only if he remains so sickeningly weak.