[J] Two Minutes to Midnight

Wayne McCoy · 03-23-2012, 09:41 AM

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I been all night drivin' heifers

Closer in to lower ground

Then I spent the mornin' thinkin'

'Bout the ones the wolves pulled down

Word Count → 484 :: I wasn't sure if Tamhas was trespassing or not since no border was mentioned. Either way, Wayne is a suspicious grumpygrump. And most of m post is ramble that can be ignored until the last coupla paragraphs. >__>

The raid had made Wayne uneasy about patrolling—not because he feared that another ruck of miscreants would attack, but because he knew he wasn’t in the condition to handle even minor trouble if it came. While he was doing more exercises with his shoulder to keep it from getting frozen, his arm was in a sling for a good part of the day, rendering it useless. He could not shift or accomplish half as much of the work as he wanted—needed—to do.

But the Tronco would patrol; he didn’t want to seem unafraid of the duty even though his nights were swarmed with nightmares surrounding the attack. Over and over he saw Dixie’s immaculate white fur stained with blood, her tiny form crumpling in his arms. Ironically, it was this reoccurring image that motivated him to go out along the borders today. If there was any threat out there he did not want to miss it, his shoulder be damned.

He felt that he could manage riding along the territory boundary; he was higher up and less vulnerable on a horse’s back, and with the new training the mounts were undergoing, he didn’t need the use of his arms. His Western-style reins really only needed one hand anyway, but he wanted to have one arm free at all times to attack. The only issue was that his usual mount, large and gentle Fern, had grown skittish around strangers after the raid. If she wasn’t huddled with the rest of the herd, she was looking to those she knew—like the ranchers and Hadley—for reassurance.

And so Wayne rode Gypsy today. The paint’s pregnancy was showing more and more each week, but because he could not handle a hard pace anyway, the ride was easygoing and did not disturb her. She’d proven her ferocity in battle, anyway, and was eager to step around the borders with her owner on her back, stopping to nibble at new shoots of flowers and grass. The cowboy smirked and brushed petals from her mane.

The idyllic imagery did not last long. A scent reached his nostrils, and Gypsy was already snorting and tensing underneath him. He was used to hearing a call if someone new was approaching the territory, and so his guard was up instantaneously. Perhaps one of the raiders had come back in a last-ditch effort to retrieve something.

He did not push Gypsy, but she seemed to be able to handle an urgent trot in the direction of the smell; he hardly needed to guide her with his legs. They finally came across a dark luperci shape leaning against a tree, one unfamiliar to the cowboy. His lips curled back as he let Gypsy step into view, her hooves breaking forest debris.

“What are you doing?” Wayne demanded in a low growl, drawn up to his full height on the mare’s back.

Wayne by Nat; table code from the Mentors!

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