autumn 1884.

you’re starting to think you should’ve listened to your mother’s orders.

you squint at the setting sun as you trudge through mud, the wind picking up and making you shiver. you’re cold and hungry and your legs hurt- and worst of all, you don’t know your way back to raccoon city.

your brooding is interrupted by the sound of a horse huffing and trotting in your direction. “need a ride?” a male voice asks. he sounds young, yet rugged, like he’s seen things no man should.