dustveilofficial

[dustveilofficial]

Dutsveil: A novella

June 23, 1927

Amos had always grown up in Dustveil. Lived there since he was a young cowboy. As a rancher, he had a new farmhand up and comin’ for him. The sun rose, and the day began. Wood framed room, bed and everything was what Amos saw when he woke. One’d suppose he liked things rugged, but perhaps it was the way things just were. Amos came down, greeting his mother, coffee and a usual rounds out to the barn. 

Amos was a strong man, muscular, deft handed and a smidge over 6’4”, he had it set, confident charming and perhaps a bit long faced, but one could easily overlook it. 

But regardless, Amos’ father was soon to call him. “Get over here. Make yourself useful and introduce yourself proper!” He exclaimed. Amos, swift as ever, followed his lead. The two men headed to the main yard, wagon on dust and gravel and a rising sun ready to glare. A man in his middle years appeared, it was the hands’ father. A younger man soon came out, the two fathers meeting at the side. “Go on.” Amos’ father huffed. Amos obeyed, heading over to the man, sparse of words and hands in pockets, hat tipped down. “Name’s Amos. Amos Armstrong.” He greeted. “Gabriel Alden.” He replied, returning the handshake Amos gave. Both men’s hands were large and firm, gripping at something they could never quite get. Amos was still to envelop Gabe’s.

A bit of banter transpired, appreciation from Gabriel, and then work. Fences had to be repaired, usual ranch labor. Wood was passed, nails and whatnot bolted, and before the two knew it, the day was over. Sweat, dirt and everything in between all around. They talked about expanding the farm, the town perhaps if things went right. Gabe’s eyes were empty all day, but Amos still filled the silence. “All in a days work.” He said, tired and all. Gabe didn’t respond much, but wasn’t cold about it either.

The two headed for dinner, Dustveil sun still shining.

—-

Dinner was a menial affair if one could put it to words. Amos’ Pa satisfied with work, but still huffing and puffing, with his Mother more open to the new hand. “Tell us where your coming from.” Amos’ father Sol demanded. “New Bern.” He responded. Sol was satisfied, forewarning more hard work and not much in the way of warmth. That’s how it was in the west. “It’ll keep and make a real man out of you.” He commented, talking of the labor and his own observance. Amos felt a pang, but it meant nothing. Gabe was a hand, and nothing more at that. He’d leave in a year, move on with life and do what he’d been set to do. 

Sol left to buy a new bull, while Gabriel headed outside.

—-

Turns out he needed to clear his head, and Amos was quick to follow. Both were unreadable, a “howdy” exchanged and a bit of silence amidst the dying stars of Dustveil. It’d been a few minutes before Gabe dared ask a question. “Ever wondered what home was?” Amos wondered what the hell a question like that meant. He answered without thinking. Telling him it was by the river. Where his dead uncle Andrew, a father to him, would spend his last bleak years with the boy. Amos saw him gone on a trip, heard him dead, and never saw him since.

Gabriel stumbled on his words, then apologized for asking. They let the conversation die, both tired of it. And so, slumber set, with days coming on ahead.

——

June 24, 1927

The next day was no different in terms of harshness. The sun was hot and unforgiving, with boots in the dust. Amos woke up. Same morning greeting, same coffee and same wooden room. Gabriel was the only difference. Amos headed to the barn, right before the cock’s crow. Gabriel was there early ready to labor. Breakfast soon came after rounds at the barn, and the time for building stables came. There was a new bull after all, and there wouldn’t be any time to laze around. Deadline was Saturday night after all. 

Gabe worked hard. Harder than an ox perhaps. Shirt clung to him, sweat and somethin’ else dripped. Amos suppressed the thought, going to work. Gabe was soon at a point of near collapse, Amos insisted he rest, Gabe obliged after much insistence, taking water from a cup from the well from the river of no worth that Amos cherished like a fool. Water crashed down, work continued, and soon enough the two men were almost through. 

—-

The next day was sure to bring work, but with three fourths all finished, Amos could afford to rest up. Gabe was glad to help Amos. Amos was glad to help Gabe. Perhaps both were more than glad. But that didn’t matter much if one simply wanted a pen built.

Sun set, crying tears of flame, bleeding out into the sky. Pinks of what one called clouds graced the horizon, Amos’ mother on the porch in the background. “You men’ve been hard at work.” She stated. “Come on for dinner you two.” She instructed.

Amos’ mother, Dina was the one to make conversation, without Sol to get in the way with his demeanor. She asked a few questions, probing and trying to stretch out time in pleasant ways. “I’m sure any lucky lady from your town’d be waiting for you right this moment.” She observed, her tone neighborly. Gabe’s shoulders tensed from the thought, quite shy, Dina noted.

Amos was quick to respond “I’ll keep Gabe’s journey to union short and sweet” He half-promised. “I’ll hold you to that if you will.” Dina nodded, Gabe’s shoulders slumped. Amos felt something sink inside to.

Dinner soon came to a halt. And Dina suggested they all relax, Amos thought it clever to take Gabe to the town saloon, and so he did. The place was loud, but not rowdy, rather harmless at that, perhaps the occasional brawl as exception to the rule. “Now listen here. I reckon no one will bite.” Amos insisted to a rather hesitant Gabe. Gabe obliged, it’s just what was done. And besides, he was more than glad to be ‘round Amos.

Two whiskeys were ordered, a beer or two as well, and the two men got well and drunk. More tipsy perhaps, but still plenty intoxicated.

The crowd seemed to be celebrating a new birth, the baby brother of Rachel, a young lady quite flush for Amos. She was there to greet him. Amos introduced the new hand. A friendly arm around the shoulder. Rapport was made, and thanks was given for drinks an’ all.

Gabe, feelin’ daring, gulped his drink down, coughing some of it up on the way down. Warmth spread through him. And so too with Amos. Soon enough, piano started playing, making musco out of noise. Rachel soon came to dance. Amos denied her, as god denied all in prayer, using Gabe as an alibi. “He’s new here, gotta be there for our friends. Don’t we?” He justified. 

The two men came to converse, and someone called out. “Never new you felt somethin’ sweet for the new hand Armstrong!” An older man, plausibly drunk, called. Amos diffused the comment, and made a laugh out of the attack, one that could easily’ve started a bloody brawl. Gabe soon asked to leave. And as Amos did, he followed him out. Amos paid for drinks, went out and took a hand to squeeze Gabe’s own. Gabe was one to hold on, and with not knowing what to say, soon letting go. With the night young, the two headed back to the ranch, “home” still austere and aloof to them all.

——

June 25, 1927

Saturday morning started early. Barn still ready to build. Boots and hat went on and morning passed, Gabe there as usual. It was honest in the countryside, soemthin’ Amos hoped the future’d live by, but a prayer’d never be answered. Breakfast was quick and painless, as mother was on good spirits. Talk was sparse, and the meal was soon to emd.

It was boiling out in Dustveil, barn was finished building and they talked of Gabe’s work. He started working a few years back, used to be a lazy man before his father beat him out of it.

Pa soon came home, still gruff as always, with bull in hand behind him, he handed it over to the worker nearby, and headed to dinner. Rebukes were made, telling Gabe to stay the course. Hard work would always be needed, even if perfection was achieved for today. Gabe’s hands were shaky, but willing and sure. Amos liked that in a fellowman. Yet again, dinner soon ended, and the sun disappeared, bringin’ in the cold night. Bull came out to test the fence, and once all trapped, the workers left. “Not much bigger than I!” Amos commented, referencing the beast. Gabe tipped his hat over face in response. 

Mother and father steeled in for the night, resting up for church. To hell with church, thought Gabe. “*Damn the lord if there ever was one*”. but he kept such thoughts to himself, being mild mannered ‘till hell broke loose inside. Amos and Gabe sat on the porch, gnawing inside on both, Gabe asking same questions in different ways. “Always wondered if there’s really be a point in home, if it’d be—If I’d be worth anythin’.” He sighed. Amos raised an eyebrow, wondering what the hell he was trying to as. Home was where you lived, what you loved if you were lucky. But it was all just pathos, even if neither knew the word. Amos didn’t want to rock the cart, he thought Gabe was doing just that. But still, Amos couldn’t wonder why the gnawin’ inside ached so bad. The two continued throwing words like wheels on an aimless path. “…It’s just that I-I…” Gabe continued, responding to a question of Amos’. “It’s just WHAT?!” Amos’ voice boiled. He stood, somethin’ bursting inside him. Amos towered over Gabe, huffing just like his pa did. Just like he did the say when Andrew died and home died with him.

Gabriel froze. Suddenly, everythin’ turned to nothin’ and questions disappeared, Gabe was forgiving, and conversation ended, hurt at it’s peak. Gabe headed to the barn, checkin’ on the animals, and there Amos followed, still feelin’ punched in the gut, though Gabe had done no wrong. But still, Andrew died, and it felt worth nothing, because in the end, it was. Amos suppressed further thought, following the man. “Gabriel!” He called. The second man turned around, frozen where he was. Amos couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything. “C’mere.” He grunted something desperate, opening his arms.

Amos embraced the man mightily. Breath ragged, Crashing muscle against bone. Gabriel started, struggling for escape, but before he knew, arms were wrapped around both. Amos clenched at his shirt. Hoping to find something to live for, but it’d never be. They let go, face all flush, right pec bruised, both god damn lucky neither could see the other. Both were all wrangled on the inside. But one wouldn’t stand it, wouldn’t quit it either. Despite everything that happened, The two made their way out the field, and neither spoke till morning’s call.

—-

[dustveilofficial]

Masterpost: How to write a story?

Compilation of writing advice for some aspects of the writing process.

How to motivate myself to write more

How to get rid of writer’s block

Basic Overview: How to write a story

How to outline a story

How to come up with plot

How to create a character

How to make a character unique

How to name your characters (Masterpost)

How to start a story

How to write a prologue

How to write conversation

How to write witty banter

How to write the last line

How to write a summary

How to write a book description

How to write romance

How to write friendships

How to write emotions (Masterpost)

How to write an argument

How to write yelling

How to write anger

How to write betrayal

How to title fanfiction

How to write an unreliable narrator

First Person vs. Third Person POV

How to write character deaths

How to use songs in a fanfiction

How to name fictional things

How to write self-insert fics

How to write multiple points of view

Introducing a group of characters

Large cast of characters interacting in one scene

How to write dual timelines

Redemption arc

Plot twists

Fatal Character Flaws

Good Traits Gone Bad (x)

Slow burn

Explanation posts about writing terms

What is…

AU ideas

Favourite tropes

Tropes of the day

List of Genres

Drabble vs. One-Shot

Advice for writing relationships

Masterpost: how to write relationships + romance

More specific scenarios

How to write a bilingual character

How to write a character with glasses

How to write heterochromia

How to create a villain

Reasons for becoming a villain

How to write a morally grey character

How to write an inferiority complex

How to write a road trip

How to create and write a cult

How to write amnesia

How to write being stabbed

How to write a stratocracy

How to write a heist

How to write the mafia

Criminal past comes to light

Ideas for traumatic experiences

How to create an atmosphere (Masterpost)

How to write a college party

How to write royalty (Masterpost)

Paramilitary Forces/ Militia

Superpowers Masterpost (Hero x Villain)

Inconvenient things a ghost could do

A Queen’s Assassination Plot

Crime Story - Detective’s POV

Evil organization of assassins

Evil wins in the end

Causes for the apocalypse

Last day on earth

Liminal Spaces

Workplace AUs

Signs of co-dependency

What to wear in a desert

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[dustveilofficial]

Dutsveil: A novella

June 23, 1927

Amos had always grown up in Dustveil. Lived there since he was a young cowboy. As a rancher, he had a new farmhand up and comin’ for him. The sun rose, and the day began. Wood framed room, bed and everything was what Amos saw when he woke. One’d suppose he liked things rugged, but perhaps it was the way things just were. Amos came down, greeting his mother, coffee and a usual rounds out to the barn. 

Amos was a strong man, muscular, deft handed and a smidge over 6’4”, he had it set, confident charming and perhaps a bit long faced, but one could easily overlook it. 

But regardless, Amos’ father was soon to call him. “Get over here. Make yourself useful and introduce yourself proper!” He exclaimed. Amos, swift as ever, followed his lead. The two men headed to the main yard, wagon on dust and gravel and a rising sun ready to glare. A man in his middle years appeared, it was the hands’ father. A younger man soon came out, the two fathers meeting at the side. “Go on.” Amos’ father huffed. Amos obeyed, heading over to the man, sparse of words and hands in pockets, hat tipped down. “Name’s Amos. Amos Armstrong.” He greeted. “Gabriel Alden.” He replied, returning the handshake Amos gave. Both men’s hands were large and firm, gripping at something they could never quite get. Amos was still to envelop Gabe’s.

A bit of banter transpired, appreciation from Gabriel, and then work. Fences had to be repaired, usual ranch labor. Wood was passed, nails and whatnot bolted, and before the two knew it, the day was over. Sweat, dirt and everything in between all around. They talked about expanding the farm, the town perhaps if things went right. Gabe’s eyes were empty all day, but Amos still filled the silence. “All in a days work.” He said, tired and all. Gabe didn’t respond much, but wasn’t cold about it either.

The two headed for dinner, Dustveil sun still shining.

—-

Dinner was a menial affair if one could put it to words. Amos’ Pa satisfied with work, but still huffing and puffing, with his Mother more open to the new hand. “Tell us where your coming from.” Amos’ father Sol demanded. “New Bern.” He responded. Sol was satisfied, forewarning more hard work and not much in the way of warmth. That’s how it was in the west. “It’ll keep and make a real man out of you.” He commented, talking of the labor and his own observance. Amos felt a pang, but it meant nothing. Gabe was a hand, and nothing more at that. He’d leave in a year, move on with life and do what he’d been set to do. 

Sol left to buy a new bull, while Gabriel headed outside.

—-

Turns out he needed to clear his head, and Amos was quick to follow. Both were unreadable, a “howdy” exchanged and a bit of silence amidst the dying stars of Dustveil. It’d been a few minutes before Gabe dared ask a question. “Ever wondered what home was?” Amos wondered what the hell a question like that meant. He answered without thinking. Telling him it was by the river. Where his dead uncle Andrew, a father to him, would spend his last bleak years with the boy. Amos saw him gone on a trip, heard him dead, and never saw him since.

Gabriel stumbled on his words, then apologized for asking. They let the conversation die, both tired of it. And so, slumber set, with days coming on ahead.

——

June 24, 1927

The next day was no different in terms of harshness. The sun was hot and unforgiving, with boots in the dust. Amos woke up. Same morning greeting, same coffee and same wooden room. Gabriel was the only difference. Amos headed to the barn, right before the cock’s crow. Gabriel was there early ready to labor. Breakfast soon came after rounds at the barn, and the time for building stables came. There was a new bull after all, and there wouldn’t be any time to laze around. Deadline was Saturday night after all. 

Gabe worked hard. Harder than an ox perhaps. Shirt clung to him, sweat and somethin’ else dripped. Amos suppressed the thought, going to work. Gabe was soon at a point of near collapse, Amos insisted he rest, Gabe obliged after much insistence, taking water from a cup from the well from the river of no worth that Amos cherished like a fool. Water crashed down, work continued, and soon enough the two men were almost through. 

—-

The next day was sure to bring work, but with three fourths all finished, Amos could afford to rest up. Gabe was glad to help Amos. Amos was glad to help Gabe. Perhaps both were more than glad. But that didn’t matter much if one simply wanted a pen built.

Sun set, crying tears of flame, bleeding out into the sky. Pinks of what one called clouds graced the horizon, Amos’ mother on the porch in the background. “You men’ve been hard at work.” She stated. “Come on for dinner you two.” She instructed.

Amos’ mother, Dina was the one to make conversation, without Sol to get in the way with his demeanor. She asked a few questions, probing and trying to stretch out time in pleasant ways. “I’m sure any lucky lady from your town’d be waiting for you right this moment.” She observed, her tone neighborly. Gabe’s shoulders tensed from the thought, quite shy, Dina noted.

Amos was quick to respond “I’ll keep Gabe’s journey to union short and sweet” He half-promised. “I’ll hold you to that if you will.” Dina nodded, Gabe’s shoulders slumped. Amos felt something sink inside to.

Dinner soon came to a halt. And Dina suggested they all relax, Amos thought it clever to take Gabe to the town saloon, and so he did. The place was loud, but not rowdy, rather harmless at that, perhaps the occasional brawl as exception to the rule. “Now listen here. I reckon no one will bite.” Amos insisted to a rather hesitant Gabe. Gabe obliged, it’s just what was done. And besides, he was more than glad to be ‘round Amos.

Two whiskeys were ordered, a beer or two as well, and the two men got well and drunk. More tipsy perhaps, but still plenty intoxicated.

The crowd seemed to be celebrating a new birth, the baby brother of Rachel, a young lady quite flush for Amos. She was there to greet him. Amos introduced the new hand. A friendly arm around the shoulder. Rapport was made, and thanks was given for drinks an’ all.

Gabe, feelin’ daring, gulped his drink down, coughing some of it up on the way down. Warmth spread through him. And so too with Amos. Soon enough, piano started playing, making musco out of noise. Rachel soon came to dance. Amos denied her, as god denied all in prayer, using Gabe as an alibi. “He’s new here, gotta be there for our friends. Don’t we?” He justified. 

The two men came to converse, and someone called out. “Never new you felt somethin’ sweet for the new hand Armstrong!” An older man, plausibly drunk, called. Amos diffused the comment, and made a laugh out of the attack, one that could easily’ve started a bloody brawl. Gabe soon asked to leave. And as Amos did, he followed him out. Amos paid for drinks, went out and took a hand to squeeze Gabe’s own. Gabe was one to hold on, and with not knowing what to say, soon letting go. With the night young, the two headed back to the ranch, “home” still austere and aloof to them all.

——

June 25, 1927

Saturday morning started early. Barn still ready to build. Boots and hat went on and morning passed, Gabe there as usual. It was honest in the countryside, soemthin’ Amos hoped the future’d live by, but a prayer’d never be answered. Breakfast was quick and painless, as mother was on good spirits. Talk was sparse, and the meal was soon to emd.

It was boiling out in Dustveil, barn was finished building and they talked of Gabe’s work. He started working a few years back, used to be a lazy man before his father beat him out of it.

Pa soon came home, still gruff as always, with bull in hand behind him, he handed it over to the worker nearby, and headed to dinner. Rebukes were made, telling Gabe to stay the course. Hard work would always be needed, even if perfection was achieved for today. Gabe’s hands were shaky, but willing and sure. Amos liked that in a fellowman. Yet again, dinner soon ended, and the sun disappeared, bringin’ in the cold night. Bull came out to test the fence, and once all trapped, the workers left. “Not much bigger than I!” Amos commented, referencing the beast. Gabe tipped his hat over face in response. 

Mother and father steeled in for the night, resting up for church. To hell with church, thought Gabe. “*Damn the lord if there ever was one*”. but he kept such thoughts to himself, being mild mannered ‘till hell broke loose inside. Amos and Gabe sat on the porch, gnawing inside on both, Gabe asking same questions in different ways. “Always wondered if there’s really be a point in home, if it’d be—If I’d be worth anythin’.” He sighed. Amos raised an eyebrow, wondering what the hell he was trying to as. Home was where you lived, what you loved if you were lucky. But it was all just pathos, even if neither knew the word. Amos didn’t want to rock the cart, he thought Gabe was doing just that. But still, Amos couldn’t wonder why the gnawin’ inside ached so bad. The two continued throwing words like wheels on an aimless path. “…It’s just that I-I…” Gabe continued, responding to a question of Amos’. “It’s just WHAT?!” Amos’ voice boiled. He stood, somethin’ bursting inside him. Amos towered over Gabe, huffing just like his pa did. Just like he did the say when Andrew died and home died with him.

Gabriel froze. Suddenly, everythin’ turned to nothin’ and questions disappeared, Gabe was forgiving, and conversation ended, hurt at it’s peak. Gabe headed to the barn, checkin’ on the animals, and there Amos followed, still feelin’ punched in the gut, though Gabe had done no wrong. But still, Andrew died, and it felt worth nothing, because in the end, it was. Amos suppressed further thought, following the man. “Gabriel!” He called. The second man turned around, frozen where he was. Amos couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything. “C’mere.” He grunted something desperate, opening his arms.

Amos embraced the man mightily. Breath ragged, Crashing muscle against bone. Gabriel started, struggling for escape, but before he knew, arms were wrapped around both. Amos clenched at his shirt. Hoping to find something to live for, but it’d never be. They let go, face all flush, right pec bruised, both god damn lucky neither could see the other. Both were all wrangled on the inside. But one wouldn’t stand it, wouldn’t quit it either. Despite everything that happened, The two made their way out the field, and neither spoke till morning’s call.

—-

[dustveilofficial]

Dutsveil: A novella

June 23, 1927

Amos had always grown up in Dustveil. Lived there since he was a young cowboy. As a rancher, he had a new farmhand up and comin’ for him. The sun rose, and the day began. Wood framed room, bed and everything was what Amos saw when he woke. One’d suppose he liked things rugged, but perhaps it was the way things just were. Amos came down, greeting his mother, coffee and a usual rounds out to the barn. 

Amos was a strong man, muscular, deft handed and a smidge over 6’4”, he had it set, confident charming and perhaps a bit long faced, but one could easily overlook it. 

But regardless, Amos’ father was soon to call him. “Get over here. Make yourself useful and introduce yourself proper!” He exclaimed. Amos, swift as ever, followed his lead. The two men headed to the main yard, wagon on dust and gravel and a rising sun ready to glare. A man in his middle years appeared, it was the hands’ father. A younger man soon came out, the two fathers meeting at the side. “Go on.” Amos’ father huffed. Amos obeyed, heading over to the man, sparse of words and hands in pockets, hat tipped down. “Name’s Amos. Amos Armstrong.” He greeted. “Gabriel Alden.” He replied, returning the handshake Amos gave. Both men’s hands were large and firm, gripping at something they could never quite get. Amos was still to envelop Gabe’s.

A bit of banter transpired, appreciation from Gabriel, and then work. Fences had to be repaired, usual ranch labor. Wood was passed, nails and whatnot bolted, and before the two knew it, the day was over. Sweat, dirt and everything in between all around. They talked about expanding the farm, the town perhaps if things went right. Gabe’s eyes were empty all day, but Amos still filled the silence. “All in a days work.” He said, tired and all. Gabe didn’t respond much, but wasn’t cold about it either.

The two headed for dinner, Dustveil sun still shining.

—-

Dinner was a menial affair if one could put it to words. Amos’ Pa satisfied with work, but still huffing and puffing, with his Mother more open to the new hand. “Tell us where your coming from.” Amos’ father Sol demanded. “New Bern.” He responded. Sol was satisfied, forewarning more hard work and not much in the way of warmth. That’s how it was in the west. “It’ll keep and make a real man out of you.” He commented, talking of the labor and his own observance. Amos felt a pang, but it meant nothing. Gabe was a hand, and nothing more at that. He’d leave in a year, move on with life and do what he’d been set to do. 

Sol left to buy a new bull, while Gabriel headed outside.

—-

Turns out he needed to clear his head, and Amos was quick to follow. Both were unreadable, a “howdy” exchanged and a bit of silence amidst the dying stars of Dustveil. It’d been a few minutes before Gabe dared ask a question. “Ever wondered what home was?” Amos wondered what the hell a question like that meant. He answered without thinking. Telling him it was by the river. Where his dead uncle Andrew, a father to him, would spend his last bleak years with the boy. Amos saw him gone on a trip, heard him dead, and never saw him since.

Gabriel stumbled on his words, then apologized for asking. They let the conversation die, both tired of it. And so, slumber set, with days coming on ahead.

——

June 24, 1927

The next day was no different in terms of harshness. The sun was hot and unforgiving, with boots in the dust. Amos woke up. Same morning greeting, same coffee and same wooden room. Gabriel was the only difference. Amos headed to the barn, right before the cock’s crow. Gabriel was there early ready to labor. Breakfast soon came after rounds at the barn, and the time for building stables came. There was a new bull after all, and there wouldn’t be any time to laze around. Deadline was Saturday night after all. 

Gabe worked hard. Harder than an ox perhaps. Shirt clung to him, sweat and somethin’ else dripped. Amos suppressed the thought, going to work. Gabe was soon at a point of near collapse, Amos insisted he rest, Gabe obliged after much insistence, taking water from a cup from the well from the river of no worth that Amos cherished like a fool. Water crashed down, work continued, and soon enough the two men were almost through. 

—-

The next day was sure to bring work, but with three fourths all finished, Amos could afford to rest up. Gabe was glad to help Amos. Amos was glad to help Gabe. Perhaps both were more than glad. But that didn’t matter much if one simply wanted a pen built.

Sun set, crying tears of flame, bleeding out into the sky. Pinks of what one called clouds graced the horizon, Amos’ mother on the porch in the background. “You men’ve been hard at work.” She stated. “Come on for dinner you two.” She instructed.

Amos’ mother, Dina was the one to make conversation, without Sol to get in the way with his demeanor. She asked a few questions, probing and trying to stretch out time in pleasant ways. “I’m sure any lucky lady from your town’d be waiting for you right this moment.” She observed, her tone neighborly. Gabe’s shoulders tensed from the thought, quite shy, Dina noted.

Amos was quick to respond “I’ll keep Gabe’s journey to union short and sweet” He half-promised. “I’ll hold you to that if you will.” Dina nodded, Gabe’s shoulders slumped. Amos felt something sink inside to.

Dinner soon came to a halt. And Dina suggested they all relax, Amos thought it clever to take Gabe to the town saloon, and so he did. The place was loud, but not rowdy, rather harmless at that, perhaps the occasional brawl as exception to the rule. “Now listen here. I reckon no one will bite.” Amos insisted to a rather hesitant Gabe. Gabe obliged, it’s just what was done. And besides, he was more than glad to be ‘round Amos.

Two whiskeys were ordered, a beer or two as well, and the two men got well and drunk. More tipsy perhaps, but still plenty intoxicated.

The crowd seemed to be celebrating a new birth, the baby brother of Rachel, a young lady quite flush for Amos. She was there to greet him. Amos introduced the new hand. A friendly arm around the shoulder. Rapport was made, and thanks was given for drinks an’ all.

Gabe, feelin’ daring, gulped his drink down, coughing some of it up on the way down. Warmth spread through him. And so too with Amos. Soon enough, piano started playing, making musco out of noise. Rachel soon came to dance. Amos denied her, as god denied all in prayer, using Gabe as an alibi. “He’s new here, gotta be there for our friends. Don’t we?” He justified. 

The two men came to converse, and someone called out. “Never new you felt somethin’ sweet for the new hand Armstrong!” An older man, plausibly drunk, called. Amos diffused the comment, and made a laugh out of the attack, one that could easily’ve started a bloody brawl. Gabe soon asked to leave. And as Amos did, he followed him out. Amos paid for drinks, went out and took a hand to squeeze Gabe’s own. Gabe was one to hold on, and with not knowing what to say, soon letting go. With the night young, the two headed back to the ranch, “home” still austere and aloof to them all.

——

June 25, 1927

Saturday morning started early. Barn still ready to build. Boots and hat went on and morning passed, Gabe there as usual. It was honest in the countryside, soemthin’ Amos hoped the future’d live by, but a prayer’d never be answered. Breakfast was quick and painless, as mother was on good spirits. Talk was sparse, and the meal was soon to emd.

It was boiling out in Dustveil, barn was finished building and they talked of Gabe’s work. He started working a few years back, used to be a lazy man before his father beat him out of it.

Pa soon came home, still gruff as always, with bull in hand behind him, he handed it over to the worker nearby, and headed to dinner. Rebukes were made, telling Gabe to stay the course. Hard work would always be needed, even if perfection was achieved for today. Gabe’s hands were shaky, but willing and sure. Amos liked that in a fellowman. Yet again, dinner soon ended, and the sun disappeared, bringin’ in the cold night. Bull came out to test the fence, and once all trapped, the workers left. “Not much bigger than I!” Amos commented, referencing the beast. Gabe tipped his hat over face in response. 

Mother and father steeled in for the night, resting up for church. To hell with church, thought Gabe. “*Damn the lord if there ever was one*”. but he kept such thoughts to himself, being mild mannered ‘till hell broke loose inside. Amos and Gabe sat on the porch, gnawing inside on both, Gabe asking same questions in different ways. “Always wondered if there’s really be a point in home, if it’d be—If I’d be worth anythin’.” He sighed. Amos raised an eyebrow, wondering what the hell he was trying to as. Home was where you lived, what you loved if you were lucky. But it was all just pathos, even if neither knew the word. Amos didn’t want to rock the cart, he thought Gabe was doing just that. But still, Amos couldn’t wonder why the gnawin’ inside ached so bad. The two continued throwing words like wheels on an aimless path. “…It’s just that I-I…” Gabe continued, responding to a question of Amos’. “It’s just WHAT?!” Amos’ voice boiled. He stood, somethin’ bursting inside him. Amos towered over Gabe, huffing just like his pa did. Just like he did the say when Andrew died and home died with him.

Gabriel froze. Suddenly, everythin’ turned to nothin’ and questions disappeared, Gabe was forgiving, and conversation ended, hurt at it’s peak. Gabe headed to the barn, checkin’ on the animals, and there Amos followed, still feelin’ punched in the gut, though Gabe had done no wrong. But still, Andrew died, and it felt worth nothing, because in the end, it was. Amos suppressed further thought, following the man. “Gabriel!” He called. The second man turned around, frozen where he was. Amos couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything. “C’mere.” He grunted something desperate, opening his arms.

Amos embraced the man mightily. Breath ragged, Crashing muscle against bone. Gabriel started, struggling for escape, but before he knew, arms were wrapped around both. Amos clenched at his shirt. Hoping to find something to live for, but it’d never be. They let go, face all flush, right pec bruised, both god damn lucky neither could see the other. Both were all wrangled on the inside. But one wouldn’t stand it, wouldn’t quit it either. Despite everything that happened, The two made their way out the field, and neither spoke till morning’s call.

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Official release

The free preview to the novella Dustveil will soon to be released. Spread the word, and if the story speaks to you, I hope you’ll enjoy.