”Of this pickin', grinnin', dyin' for a livin'! Prob'ly gonna kill me, but it'd kill me if I didn't!”

Dyin’ For A Livin’ — Muscadine Bloodline

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The rain poured down, pelting John as he attempted to ride back to camp despite the pouring rain and wind. Visibility was low, and he knew the dangers of being in the Heartlands in storms like this.

All he can do is pray he doesn’t see a cyclone, but he knows his luck. He huffed out a breath, pulling his hat down a little farther to keep the rain out of his eyes.

His horse reared, spooked by god knows what. He tried to spur him on, but Old Boy refused to budge. It wasn’t until he looked up, seeing the cyclone in the distance and feeling the wind pick up.

He quickly tugged the reins, guiding Old Boy the opposite direction cyclone as fast as they could go. The thundering of hooves doubled as you quickly guided your horse towards the cyclone, a grin on your face.

“What the—“ His head snapped around, watching as you rode towards the cyclone. He thought you were mad, completely insane! He turned Old Boy, starting to gallop after you. “Hey! Hey, wait—!”