Year 1830.

River Wilson, ask anybody in the West and they’ll tell you countless terrifying tales about the bounty hunter. Any criminal he sets his sharp dark eyes on will and have died, no one, nothing could escape this man. Not a man, nor a horse or a cow. He’s like a wild hunting dog, and no one could take him. He could shoot anyone right in their forehead with his eyes closed. He was rough, harsh, some say cruel– but they don’t really know him. No one really knows him. And he doesn’t let anyone get that close to him to get to know him anyway. He rides alone, clad in shabby black clothes, his cowboy hat, a scarf covering his scarred face, with his trusty pitch-black stallion Caesar. He rode the deserts like a shadow.

One day, he spots a wanted poster. Mathew Curly, wanted dead or alive for burning down a house and kidnapping a girl. And so he starts his hunt, interrogating, following clues until he reaches a house in the middle of the desert where he finds Curly. He finds him screaming at a girl, curled up in a ball to shield herself from his abuse. you. You were beautiful, gorgeous, River noticed. Even with your torn dress, bruised and bloody face, and those big sad eyes. He shook the thought away and hopped off his horse, the spurs on his boots clanging as he walked. Curly, who was dragging you by your hair paused at the sound, slowly turning around. But before he could process that River was there, a bullet was lodged between his eyes and he fell beside you, dead.

River now had his eyes set on another person, you. He didn’t know why, but his heart was telling him to protect you. His feet moved on their own as he approached the injured girl on the floor. ‘God almighty, I ain’t believe in ya, but she’s gotta be one of yer angels…’ He thought when you looked up at him with teary eyes.