Chapter 2: Camp

McDougall woke with a few shards of dawn’s light splitting through the tree line and stabbing his eyes. The bright red flaring light at his eyes poked him awake.

“Oi…” said a gruff voice near his side, “Oi!”

McDougall opened his eyes and turned to meet the baleful gaze of red-haired giant MacElory.

She growled, baring her teeth, “Get me out of these, damn ropes or I’ll blow your face off!”

This was not McDougall's first bounty, it was his third. He drew his revolver at his waist like the dash of a freighted doe.

The dark steel chamber met the murder’s eye at a hair’s width of distance.

McDougall’s gentle, blue, and crossed eyes tried and failed to meet hers, “Keep quiet, or I’ll bring you in ….”

Her furious, furrowed brows deepened, “You have no idea who yer messing with, mister. You got lucky once, do you think it will happen again!”

McDougall gave off a small, ever so slight smile, “I know you are a killer. That is enough. It is for the judges to determine the rest. All I got to do is bring you back to answer for your harm.”

The smaller Brownie, from the previous night, cleared her throat, “Sorry to be interrupting, McDougall.”

“Nae bother.”

“But we be packing up camp. Do you want some porridge?”

“Yes please,” He paused and stroked his thick beard, “and some for the… her.”

The Brownie turned to leave when McDougall said, “Sorry, I never caught your name. Seems rude to take your food and not know your name?”

Even this seemed to cause the bounty hunter some form of distress and he was faintly blushing.

MacElory rolled her eyes and suffered how she had been taken down by such a softie.

“It be Haid.” she said with a smile, clearly visible within the fur like her brown eyes.

“Thanks, Haid.” He bit his tongue in haste, gulped and then said, “My name is Boyd.”

She nodded her head politely in response and added, “Nice to meet you, Boyd. I’ll be back with some piping hot oats.”

Haid walked away, the soft mud sticking to her skirt.

MacElory screwed her face up with disgust, “Are you flirting with the furry fae?”

Boyd blushed, but more from shock than an exposed crush, “Trying to be friendly. Not everything got to do with the lover’s dance.”

MacElory, hadn’t the wits to discern between a crush and a polite distress, “The Lover’s dance! Just call it by its name …”

Haid interrupted, “Porridge is here.”

Boyd took the proffered bowl, “Oh, thank you.”

Haid with her other hand put down a bowl of porridge on the grass where MacElory lay.

Boyd said, as the bowl rested on his lap, with one hand at his pistol and the other drummed his belly to the rhythm of ancient song, “I would free you so you could have the dignity of a meal.”

MacElory, red-faced, shouted, “So why don’t you!”

Boyd's eyes narrowed into slits, “You are far too dangerous for me to endanger our hosts. I wouldn’t dare risk their lives merely to satisfy a pride you have long since lost the right to be respected.”

MacElory’s lips were sewn shut by the cold statement.

He placed his bowl on the grass and walked over to her.

“Do you have a name?” McDougall asked

MacElory’s expression softened, the brows unfurrowed and the tension at her eyes loosened, “The name is Brendolyn.”

“It is a lovely name.”

“Bren for short.”

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He nodded. He crouched down and drew close.

Bren tensed, her shoulders rose and test tightened, as she braced for impact.

Boyd lifted her upright and rested her on the back of Thistle.

She squirmed with embarrassment, “Thanks.”

He said nothing but fed her porridge with his spoon.

She ate the hot, salty dish and was flooded with energy. Her shoulders unwound her shoulders under his gentle care and she breathed deeply. She ate her porridge in awkward if pleasant silence. Once the bowl was empty, she watched as he ate his own meal. A faint curiosity dimmed the predator's rage. She was at ease. For that brief moment.

After the meal, McDougall began his morning routine. He cleaned his revolver of any dirt with cloth and Gun oil. It could be a matter of life and death if the cylinder couldn’t spin, or if he couldn’t open and close the cylinder to reload. After its usage last night, he made sure to give the chamber and barrel a thorough clean.

He clasped the revolver in his hand, a perfect wooden grip for his hand. He spun his revolver. A silly trick, but one he'd spent weeks to master. Almost as much time as he had spent learning to shoot.

“So you’re not useless with that thing.” Bren mocked, it was her attempt at a compliment.

Boyd forced his cracked lips into a smile, “I took you down, didn’t I?”

She flushed red and shouted “You shot me in the back! Any fool can gun someone down with their back turned. It takes real skill to win a duel.”

He scoffed, “Sure, pretty sure you landing on your arse meant I got you from the front.”

She smirked, “That’s because I’m the best. I’ve won every duel I ever fought. I’m not some flea-ridden cow herder or shepherd. Whatever it is you folk farm around here.”

“Both and no one dies from my weapon, you see the difference between us. I have the control not to kill. Three times I’ve used this here gun, and three times they have been shot softer than sheep’s wool. You’re a murderer MacElory. As an elected deputy of the McDougall clan, I act in defence of myself and my community to descale any conflict that arises.

She spat at his boots, “I’ll die before I hang, Deputy”

He lowered his hat and looked off into the distance, “You won’t hang, MacElory. We don’t have the death plenty up here in the North. No, you’ll give back to the community you savaged with your cruel acts. And I will return what you stole.”

“I’ve escaped before, I’ll do it again,” she promised.

“Then, I hunt you down again, so you will face the justice of the people you wrong. Tracy lost her wife. You’ll answer for that,” He turned the Fae-Eye Scope in his open hand, “I’ll never understand how an object is worth taking a life.”

She had no words left to speak.

Boyd had silenced her.

As the Brownies broke camp, Boyd said his farewells and set off to leave with his bounty in tow.

“Before you leave,” said Haid, “Here is an amulet. A gift to protect your heart and mind.” She passed him an amulet like the one at the camp.

He took it and fixed his gaze upon the design, “Thank you.”

“I’ll doubt you shall ever need it, and it can do nothing about bullets.”

“Thanks, Haid. If I ever come across a Urisk or a Baobhan Sith. Well, I’ll be safe because of you.”

She smiled, “Good. I had a terrible dream last night and well… you and those close by will be safe with it.

He smiled back.

“Goodbye, Boyd.”

He nodded and tipped his wide-brimmed hat, “Another time.”

He rode off into the distance towards Town McDougall through the obscuring forest that hid a great terror beyond its branches.

As Boyd rode through the forest. Far above the first counter strike began.

---

Three Dragons and on their backs Great Heroes charged at the Shepherd. The Heroes wielded gleaming swords imbued with ancient power. Each hero had a destiny as great as the stars and each a history detailed in thick tomes. However, fate is bound to its dimension and has no say in the actions of interdimensional invasions.

Amulets protected their minds, but they fell with a single swipe.

The first counterattack had failed.

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