#love and stuff

[say-hwaet]

If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter 33: Pilgrim Journey, Part I Next Chapter: Thirty-Four Summary: Without the influence of Dutch and the gang, Arthur and Eliza make the journey with their children to their new home. They don't know where they'll end up, but as long as they are together, they can take on anything. Warnings: Mature themes, language, innuendo, flirting, fluff, freak accident Word Count: ~8,700

The snow has fully receded, revealing a vast expanse of plains and valleys that stretch endlessly beneath the sky. They are now carpeted with lush, vibrant grasses that sway gently in the breeze, a sea of green as far as the eye can survey. You have been grazing in this bountiful land for some time now, nurturing your two oldest fawns. Their once-speckled coats are gradually shedding their spots, and they are growing into robust, strong deer.

Your eldest, the young male, is becoming the reflection of the buck who sired him. His shoulders are squarely formed, his antlers, only small spires, will become magnificent once he reaches maturity. He’s rather majestic, every step slow and methodical, and takes more risks to explore the boundaries his father has set. 

And your young doe, with her striking blue eyes, has only but a few spots remaining, and is more graceful in her movements. She is more alert to her surroundings, seeing things through a wider lens, but is far from shy to spar with her older brother or the other young bucks that threaten the border. 

A calm chuff disturbs your grazing, and you lift your head softly. There he approaches, your mate, now returned from his daily rounds of securing his territory. There is no harem, there is no competition. There’s no need for it. It seems a rare union has formed between you, finding all that you need solely in your bond. 

As soon as he reaches you, he brings his nose to yours, exhaling sharply, and you blink softly. You lean far enough to lick his cheek, a special greeting reserved for him and your young. He shakes his head, the leaves and blossoms caught in his antlers falling down like rain, and he backs up to allow you to graze again. However, he doesn’t leave your side, instead lowering his head to regard what has taken shelter beneath you. 

Your baby, just a couple months old, tail wagging and legs lanky, nurses from you with a hungered earnestness. It won’t be long before this little fawn learns to rely solely on grasses and roots, but for now, you provide shelter as well as sustenance. 

The buck chuffs softly, taking in the little fawn’s scent. He commits it to memory each time, knowing the importance of lineage. Each of his offspring is a testament to his vitality and strength and the skill of his mate, who has reared up each one and has taught them skills that will preserve their lives and the next generation. 

It is a legacy that can never be broken.

***

“Eliza.” A soft whisper cuts through your sleep, and a gentle nudge pushes into your arm. Your head feels heavy, having it tilted to the side, and as you come to, you remember where you are.

On the train, sitting in a seat next to your husband, with your children sitting across from you.

Only, the train isn’t moving.

“We’ve reached Deseret,” Arthur explains, and you take a deep breath as you slowly rise. You have a crick in your neck and grimace softly just as Arthur lifts his hand and brings it to the back of your neck. He pinches it gently, massaging the muscles, and you feel instant relief. “Time to get off and get on a stagecoach.”

His words almost don’t reach your ears, for the massage has eased the tension in your body so effectively that for a moment, the world outside the cocoon of Arthur's touch seems distant and muffled. The clamor of passengers gathering their belongings and shuffling out of the train compartment gradually pulls you back into reality.

You smile, letting your chin tuck into your chest. “Not if you keep doing that, we aren’t going anywhere.”

Arthur chuckles softly, giving your neck one final squeeze before resting his hand there. “We gotta go, darlin’.”

You nod at Arthur, reluctantly pulling away from his comforting hand, and look at your children as they remain seated.

Isaac is out like a light, leaning his face against the glass window, mouth slightly agape and snoring softly. Alice, on the other hand, has been looking through her father’s satchel, holding out trinkets, stones, cougar claws, and other things. Arthur had given it to her to keep her busy, as you both had run out of things to occupy her. As though a journal, two books, and playing card games weren’t enough.

Alice glances up, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity as she holds a particularly large feather. "Daddy, where'd this one come from?" she asks, her voice a mix of awe and excitement.

Arthur leans over, his eyes crinkling with a smile as he takes the feather from her small hands. "That was given to me by a friend of mine,” he answers, and then his smile drops softly. “Your mama met him, actually.”

You know instantly who he means. “Charles?”

He looks back at you and nods his head. “Yeah.” He looks back toward his daughter, but his mind begins to wander, entertaining the regret he’s felt from time to time. “I was so busy bein’ drun—erm— angry that I really didn’t appreciate him like I should’ve.”

Alice, sensing the shift in her father's mood, gently takes the feather back and clutches it to her chest. “I think I know how that feels, Daddy.” 

Arthur clears his throat, pushing back memories that threaten to cloud his day. “You got a friend, little lady?”

Alice shrugs, setting the feather down in her lap and scratching her palm. “I did.”

You’re almost surprised to hear this. Alice was bullied and had to fight her way through school most days. What friend could this be?

Eager to comfort her, you offer a smile. “You’ll make lots of friends once we settle into our new home. Friends don’t pick fights and tease.”

Arthur pushes himself to a standing position. “Well, we won’t be settlin’ anywhere if we don’t get off this train…!” He leans over his son and pats him gently. “Get up, partner.”

Isaac stirs with a groan, rubbing his eyes as he slowly comes to. "We there yet?" he mumbles, still half in a dream.

Arthur chuckles. "Almost, son. We gotta switch to a stagecoach."

Isaac nods softly, his father’s words registering, and Arthur helps him to his feet. Grabbing the boy’s pack, he offers it to his son. “Follow your mama out, alright? I gotta get the trunk and horses.”

As Alice slides off the seat, Arthur palms the top of her head. “You hold onto my satchel for me, won’tchu?”

She beams. “Sure, Daddy.”

Arthur turns to you, and the love in his eyes makes your heart leap. You aren’t sure what it is, whether it was the dream or just the excitement of this new journey, but you feel desire building inside you. Of course, now is not the time or place, but an idea keeps entering your thoughts.

That little fawn, delicate and timid, emerged as a third presence in the forest. In that dream, you were that doe, with its soft, tawny coat and wide, wondering eyes. Despite your undeniable humanity, the dream felt incredibly vivid, as if the gentle rustle of leaves and the warm, dappled sunlight were whispering secrets about your future, weaving a tapestry of possibilities that seemed almost prophetic.

But you can’t predict the future. That was already established.

He sees you staring at him, and he chuckles. “What is it, darlin’?”

You shake your head, trying to toss the thought out of your mind. “I’m just happy,” you say.

Arthur grins and leans in to kiss you sweetly, your daughter’s disgust the background ambiance. You ignore it long enough to plant a quick peck as you part, grabbing your own bag and leading the way off the train. The children follow you closely, bumping into you when you have to stop and allow an elderly couple to exit before you.

Once you step out of the train, the clamor of the station hits you like a gust of wind—shouts of greetings, farewells, and the unhitched cries of livestock mix with the chug and hiss of other trains. It's a cacophony that brings a smile to your face. The liveliness seems to coincide with your own excitement quite well.

This city in Deseret, Great Junction, reminds you of Jardin City, which you suppose isn’t much farther than where you stand. You haven’t been there in years, only stopping there once on your way to Low Falls.

You were a few weeks pregnant then, and Arthur had told you about his father.

That might have been the first time that he was vulnerable with you. Really, really vulnerable. 

Making your right hand free, you grab Alice by the wrist just before she begins to walk ahead of you. “We need to stay together,” you remind her.

“But I thought we were goin’ this way.” She points toward the ticket station and looks up at you with an inquisitive brow. “Ain’t that where they sell coach tickets?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t give you grounds to run ahead of me. I could just as easily lose you.”

Alice wants to roll her eyes but refrains, much to your gratitude. She nods and falls back in step beside you, her small hand finding yours and gripping it tightly. The warmth of her palm somehow reassures you that despite the unknowns ahead, your family's bond will navigate through whatever challenges the West has to offer.

You three make your way to the ticket station and find your place in line behind a young woman as she speaks to the ticket seller. She's fussing with a stack of papers, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to make sense of her travel documents.

You decide not to eavesdrop and turn to look out toward the end of the station, regarding the buildings that mark the beginning of town. You wonder how far you will go and where you will end up. You want to live somewhere normal, where there is a good school and decent human beings to have as neighbors. You don’t want to live in hiding anymore, but live boldly and happily.

The dream you had creeps into your mind again, and your mind immediately goes to that little fawn. Its reddish body and little legs. How you envy that doe in that dream. You are in your own dream. 

It is in the middle of your thoughts that you feel a tug and a gentle shake of your hand. “Mama, we’re next.”

Turning to face the ticket stand, a small “oh” escapes your lips, and you step ahead. The ticket seller sees you and your children and smiles, exhaling after dealing with the previous customer. “How can I help you, ma’am?” he asks politely. 

You let go of Alice’s hand to retrieve your coin purse, setting it on the counter before the man. “Yes, we need passage on the next stagecoach, please.”

The man begins to pull out blank tickets, tearing them off perforated edges. “How many? The three of you?”

“Four. My husband also needs a ticket.”

The man nods approvingly and, taking his pen, he begins to write the necessary details. “And how far will you be going…?”

***

The coach rocks more steadily now that the terrain has changed. Alice sleeps on your shoulder, her hands barely holding onto the journal beneath her fingers. You catch it just before it falls to the floor and tuck it neatly into Alice’s pack. 

“I don’t know how she does it,” the woman sitting across from you two comments with a chuckle. “She’s been asleep almost this entire time.”

You grin, unable to resist the temptation of lifting your arm and guiding your daughter’s head onto your lap, rubbing her arm in gentle sweeps. “Perhaps your husband could suggest a diagnosis?”

The woman, named Mrs. Craig, is the wife of a doctor. He sits next to her, and while they’ve been conversing, you don’t know much else about them. You aren’t one to pry, as you’d have to give up some information about yourself out of politeness, and you don’t want to do that.

The doctor tugs at his collar, clearly nervous for being put on the spot. “I wouldn’t think that there’s anything abnormal about the ability to sleep, madame,” he says.

Mrs. Craig smiles wryly at her husband’s cautious response. "He's right, of course. Some folks just find the rhythm of travel soothing." She turns her gaze out the window, where the scenery whips past in a blur of greens and browns. "Much like your daughter, I suppose."

You look down at her sleeping form. “She’s always been a heavy sleeper. Not even a gunshot wakes her up.”

The doctor and his wife chuckle at that, but little do they know how serious you are. 

As the stagecoach rumbles along, you find your thoughts drifting back to Arthur. He’s just outside, giving Boadicea a chance to stretch her legs while simultaneously encouraging horsemanship in your son, using that methodical care of his. You wonder briefly if he’s thinking about this new life, about the risks and promises it holds. You also hope that you and your fellow pilgrims won’t fall victim to bandits, but you take great comfort that Arthur is near.

The doctor, noticing your distant gaze, clears his throat slightly, drawing your attention back to the conversation at hand. "Have you and your husband been this way before?”

A personal question, but one that is not too intrusive, if answered correctly.

You nod, humming affirmatively. “Mmhm. We’ve lived in many places. We prefer to be out west. That is where we are going.”

Mrs. Craig chortles. “Am I to believe you don’t have a set destination, then?” She doesn’t wait for a response before turning to her husband. “How exciting! To not have a set plan? Just let the wind carry you?”

Dr. Craig raises a brow and looks over at you apologetically. “My wife is a little whimsical. She’d be a nomad if I let her.”

She slips her arm around his, leaning into him and gazing up at him and an adoring eye. “A mission trip to Africa or India would suffice. There’s always a good chance that folks out there would like a doctor such as yourself.” She nuzzles his shoulder, making her husband’s face turn rosy pink. “I know I certainly would…”

Dr. Craig clears his throat again. “Dearest…”

You smile to yourself and look away, trying to give them privacy despite the lack of space to do so. You gaze out the window again, watching the sagebrush and tall grasses pass by. You can hear Arthur and Isaac having a conversation, though you can’t make out what they’re saying. You can tell they're riding near the back of the coach, and it makes sense. The driver and guard are at the front, and if Arthur isn’t taking point, he’s watching the rear. 

The terrain, aside from being a little bumpy, has been relatively flat. You’re a little surprised, given the details that you were told regarding this journey. On the border of Deseret is a length of mountains, leading into a winding road and hills before reaching the nearest town.

But you can see the mountains in the distance, tall sentinels to what lies beyond, the last stretch of plains before Pike Canyon, so you know it won’t be much longer. The wild beauty of the landscape is undeniable, yet it also harbors unknowns that could threaten any traveler's safety.

You remember the first time you had ventured through a canyon, your first gunfight. You hadn’t been so sure of yourself until then, but each time you had taken a step out in bravery wasn’t for your own self-preservation but for your children. 

You look down at Alice again. It has always been your children. 

After a couple more hours of daydreaming, the driver calls out. “Last stop for a long while! Get out and stretch your legs if you wanna. We're at the mouth of Pike Canyon.”

You can see that it is true, a sign marks this spot as the last source of accessible water for eighty miles. You want to take this chance to fill up the canteens and see your son and husband. 

Dr. Craig turns to his wife. “Some fresh air might do us good, dearest.”

And his wife nods her head. “I agree. Would you care to help us ladies out?”

He nods and just as he’s about to get up and reach the door, it already swings open. 

“Darlin’—” You recognize his voice before seeing his face, as Arthur peeks into the coach. His eyes adjust to the darkness, and he finds you still seated, with the sleeping Alice in your lap. “You comin’ out?”

You suppress a giggle, feeling warm for the doting care he’s been exhibiting toward you this entire trip. He couldn’t wait to dismount and reach the coach, beating the good doctor at his act of chivalry. You do give him a nod and motion to wake your daughter. 

You jostle her gently, placing your hand on her shoulder and giving her a good shake. “Alice,” you start, and you watch her movements carefully. You hope she’ll wake up quickly, for you don’t want to keep your eager husband waiting. “Let’s get out and stretch our legs.”

You see her scrunch her nose, but she doesn’t wake. 

You try another route, nudging her just a little more. “Sandy hasn’t seen you in a while…”

Her eyelids flutter open at the mention of her beloved horse, and a sleepy smile spreads across her face. “Sandy?” she mumbles, still half in the grip of her dreams.

“Yes, sweetheart. Sandy’s just outside, waiting for you,” you say, your voice soft but encouraging.

Alice slowly sits up, and begins to rub her eyes. “Are we there?”

The doctor and his wife chuckle softly, endeared by Alice’s ignorance. Arthur affords himself a little laugh, and he shakes his head.

“No, little lady, not yet. We’re just stoppin’ for a minute or two.”

You encourage Alice along, shooing her towards the exit. “Go on, honey. We won’t be stopping for long.”

Alice, invigorated by the mention of her horse, scrambles to her feet and darts past Arthur, bursting into the fresh air of the outdoors. You follow at a more leisurely pace, helping to guide the Craigs out of the coach with small talk that bridges the gap between strangers.

And finally, when Arthur helps you out, the giddiness returns when your hand slips into his as he helps you down the coach steps. The sunlight hits you, warm and full of promise, reflecting off the rugged landscape that surrounds Pike Canyon.

The air is crisp, a mixture of dust and sagebrush that makes you breathe a little deeper, savoring the wild scent. You watch as Alice runs to where Sandy is tied, hurriedly unhitching her and looking around for the water source. Isaac and Rooster have already beaten them to it, the small stream not too far from where the coach is parked. The Morgan stallion’s long neck shimmers from the sweat on his coat as he dips his head down to drink from the stream. Isaac crouches down, scooping up some water in his hands, and brings it to Rooster’s coat in an attempt to cool him off.

Alice leads Sandy to the stream, eager to take care of her mare.

Your attention is taken away from them when you feel a hand placed on your lower back. Smiling to yourself, you turn to see Arthur come up beside you. He looks down at you, gazing into your eyes, and you can’t help but feel good about where you are. “Are you happy?” you ask.

His hand slips past your back to around your waist, and he pulls you close enough that his lips reach your forehead. He kisses it softly and answers before lifting from your skin. “The happiest I’ve ever been.”

You then hear Mrs. Craig speak quietly to her husband. “They act like such newlyweds, don’t they?”

You chuckle at that, for she doesn’t know how close she is. Keeping his hand on you, Arthur encourages you forward, walking away from the coach, the doctor, and his wife.

You silently agree to take a round about the resting spot, and you have a feeling that there is something on his mind. “Penny for your thoughts?” you ask.

He hasn’t taken his hand off your waist, his eyes looking straight ahead. “Just thinkin’ about where we will end up.”

“Have you thought about where to settle down? Do you want to keep going?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve lived all over, but none felt exactly like home to me.”

“You grew up near Oregon, didn’t you?” you inquire. “Maybe we could settle there?”

He shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “Not shoah that’s the place. It don’t feel right.”

“Well, maybe we don’t go that far then. Maybe it's somewhere closer. Somewhere beyond this canyon.”

He nods, considering your words as he watches the children and horses at the stream. The sun dips lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain that cradles Pike Canyon. "Maybe," he says quietly, almost to himself. "Beyond this canyon could be good."

You feel his grip tighten slightly around your waist, reflecting a resolve that always made you feel secure. "We'll know it when we see it," he adds, giving you a reassuring smile.

“As long as there are trees and water, I don’t care.”

He laughs, stopping in his stride and pulling you to stand in front of him. “Always been easy to please, ain’t you?”

You shrug. “I don’t know about that.”

“What kind of house do you want?”

You haven’t thought of that really. The houses you’ve lived in for the past few years, up until Annabelle’s home, have been shacks or decrepit shells of what they used to be. 

The wind picks up slightly, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and wildflowers from the hills beyond. The simple beauty of this moment—the wild landscape, your family—you think about when times were good. When you had felt at home the most.

“Like the house I grew up in,” you answer. “Two stories, with a kitchen, lots of rooms to have family over.” You feel your cheeks grow hot as another thought creeps into your mind. “Or to fill…”

Arthur looks at you with a raised brow. “Oh? You really wanna…?” He isn’t sure to finish his question, in case he misinterpreted what you meant.

You bite your lower lip, looking away out of bashfulness. It is too late to be vague now, having confessed everything just a week ago. But you’re tentative as well. You want to be sure that you both are ready for that step. Maybe you’ll come out with it once you’ve settled. That would be the wiser choice.

But you feel the heat in your belly, the thumping in your heart. You want to talk about it. You want that connection, that conversation within a conversation.

But you’ll tread lightly. “Anything can happen…” You look back at him, your doe eyes soft and alluring. “…when you play your cards right.”

That look in your eyes, he has seen it before. That flirtatious glint that tugs at the corner of your lips, pulling him into a silent dance of promises yet unspoken. You both haven’t been intimate since you boarded the train, not really finding a place private enough, but if he hasn’t wished for it, it’s borderline religious.

Arthur's smile widens, the edges of his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that always sets your heart aflutter. “I’ve gambled with worse odds.”

You feel your heart nearly burst, and you suddenly grab his shirt collar, like you always do when you’re about to kiss him. “Oh, if we were alone, I’d—”

“You’d what…?” Both of his hands go to your waist, fingers open and palms firmly against your bodice. “Hmm…?” His eyes almost darken, the hint of something sensual on his tongue. “Tell me, darlin’.”

Oh, this is going somewhere fast. How far will you both go, despite the open sky and people just a few yards away?

Your right hand slips up behind his neck, and you feel the fuzziness of his short hairs. “How about I give you a preface…?”

And following the pressure of your hand, he leans down and brings his lips to meet yours. Where it would normally be soft and chaste, the kiss deepens, charged with the buildup of unspoken words and withheld touches. His lips move against yours with a hunger that echoes the wildness of the landscape around you, a palpable echo of your shared longing and anticipation for what lies ahead. He groans softly from the back of his throat and brings his hands to caress your face tenderly, never stopping the tango of tongue and teeth.

Suddenly aware of the open space around you, you gently pull back, breathing heavily. “Getting carried away,” you warn.

“Oh, darlin’,” he sighs. “It’s about all a man can stand in public.”

You laugh softly, feeling the blush rise in your cheeks as you tug on his hand, leading him further away from the stagecoach and the others. "Maybe we should find some privacy then," you suggest, your voice low but laced with a playful undertone.

Arthur's eyes light up with mischief and affection as he follows your lead, not ashamed at your forwardness.

But then you hear a loud call from back at the coach. It is the driver. “Five minutes before we leave…!”

“Oh…” you whine. “So much for that.”

“We still got time,” Arthur says quickly as he continues to walk away from the gathering, leading you towards some large rocks.

But you pull back, laughing loudly. “Arthur, you wild one! I want to take my time…!”

He stops in his stride, not wanting to drag you. As Arthur looks back at you, he grins, his deep laugh echoing against the rocks as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back toward the coach. "Alright, alright," he concedes, the twinkle in his eyes revealing his reluctance to retreat from the moment. "Let's enjoy this clear sky and fresh air as we walk back." You both walk a few paces before he speaks again. “Might have to jump in the creek, though.”

You gasp before laughing loudly, covering your mouth out of propriety. “It isn’t deep enough, Arthur…!”

“I ain’t too humble to waller if I need to. Had to use my canteen to cool off and hide behind a rock once.” 

Hide behind a rock? What is he talking about?

Suddenly, it dawns on you. That day outside of Moreno…

And at the same time that it dawns on you, Arthur realizes what he said, and he covers his face. “Wait—just forget I even said—”

You gasp, cutting him off. “Arthur…! Were you…?”

He begins to walk ahead of you, wanting to cut the conversation short before anyone can hear it. “Just forget it…”

You don’t mean to laugh at his expense, and you reach out to grab his arm, pulling him back to you. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, my husband. As long as I’m the reason that you get so…” You then lower your voice to ensure that nobody else can hear. “Hot and bothered…” You wrap your arms around his right arm, looking up at him in the same manner as Mrs. Craig did her husband. “I don’t mind…”

And just like Dr. Craig, he averts his eyes and clears his throat. “You ain’t helpin’, darlin’.” And he feels the heat rise in his body. Pretty soon, he won’t be able to conceal his urges, and in a desperate attempt to abate them, he pulls his arm out of your grip and pivots, heading back toward the rocks. 

You scoff. “Arthur, we only have two minutes!”

“I gotta relieve myself.”

You snort, making assumptions all on your own. “Is that what you call it?”

“Eliza…!” he chides with a warning lilt and runs behind the large rocks. 

You think not to wait for him, letting him have the space to himself, and you turn back around to head back to the coach. You’ll buy him some time, but you can’t promise anything beyond a few minutes. 

Though, you have a feeling that’s all he’ll need this time.

***

Arthur lets his arm hang loose as he adjusts the reins in his left hand, Boadicea taking it slow as they ride through Pike Canyon. Once they entered, the temperature changed drastically, and every step, every pebble that rolls, is echoed throughout. 

It started out pretty simply, the path wide and flat, but as they’ve progressed, it has divided into a switchback. The coach driver doesn’t seem bothered, but Arthur hopes that this is the only one.

Arthur wasn’t sure if he wanted Isaac to ride this time, having it be more precarious than what the boy is used to, but he seems to be doing well so far. 

Making sure Isaac remains in his line of sight, he gives the boy pointers and reassurances when he detects nervousness. “There ain’t no shame in goin’ slow, son,” he calls carefully. “Don’t worry about what the coach is doin’.”

“How’s Sandy doin’?” Isaac asks without looking back. 

Arthur humors him by twisting at the waist, eyeing the mare as she is led behind him. She seems to be in her element, navigating the path along the canyon with ease as it begins to narrow and get steeper. “Doin’ fine, son.”

Arthur is relieved that Alice remains in the coach with you. Knowing his daughter’s reckless nature, she might get impatient with the slow ride and want to change her circumstances real quick. It’s best if she sleeps the whole trek through the canyon, at least until the worst of it is over.

But if it isn’t a beautiful scene. He’s been in enough canyons, but there’s something awe-inspiring about them that makes him think about something other than what he’s doing.

“Some say floods make canyons,” Isaac says, interrupting his father’s musings.

Arthur lifts his head to watch his son steer Rooster towards the canyon wall, the safer part of the switchback. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, long time ago, water just carvin’ through rock. Makes me think about the Noah’s ark story. Or that Yellow River flood in China a few years ago,” Isaac muses, his voice tinged with a newfound thoughtfulness that Arthur finds not too far from your inquisitiveness. When he was first interested in you, before he really knew he was, he was amused by your random history facts and musings about things you read in books.

You would have made a fine teacher if given the chance.

Arthur nods, his gaze following the lines where water once shaped the mighty stones around them. “Tragedy shoah repeats itself, don’t it?”

Isaac nods, seeming to ponder his father's words. "So we gotta learn from it, right?"

"That's right," Arthur confirms, pride swelling in his chest at the boy's understanding. “Though I ain’t too shoah how we can stop natural disasters,” he ends with a chuckle.

They reach the top of the switchback, and the path begins to widen, causing Arthur to encourage Boadicea to pick up her pace as Isaac follows the stagecoach. The shadows of the canyon walls melt into the light that bursts at the top of the canyon, nearly blinding the eyes of the coach driver, guard, and the accompanying riders. 

The light reveals an expanse of open plain, dotted with clusters of wildflowers that seem to celebrate their escape from the shadowy depths of the canyon. It's a sudden shift from the steep, enclosed paths to this open freedom, and it instills a sense of relief and wonder in everyone.

“Wow,” Isaac sighs. “I can see for miles…” A sliver of a shadow catches his attention, and lifting his eyes to the sky, he spots a large bird. “Oh!” he gasps, pointing to it as it flies overhead. “A hawk, Dad!”

Arthur lets his head fall back to see past the brim of his hat. Sure enough, it’s a Swainson’s Hawk, the reddish feathers around its neck and white band of feathers on its wing arms a clear indicator of its breed. “Good job, partner. That’s right.”

“It’s nice to see more sky again.” Isaac looks straight ahead, then pans across the landscape before him. “And our home is out there somewhere. All this land to choose from!”

“That’s why the West is best, son. Open spaces. Less people.”

“But I don’t mind people, Dad. Just the bad ones.”

Arthur nods, a soft smile touching his lips as he looks down at his son, pride filling his chest. "That's fair enough," he agrees. The trail levels out more now, leading them through a patch of wildflowers that brush against Boadicea's legs. The scent of sage and fresh earth lifts in the air, the breeze carrying it over the conversation that the driver is having with his guard.

Just as they were coming up out of the switchback, they hit a large rock, and a large clunking sound followed.

The driver, not new to this journey, suggested they stop for a moment just to make sure everything is alright.

But he is not immune to persuasion, and so, eager to get to the next watering hole, the guard convinces him to keep going.

“Can we at least live where there is a school?” Isaac asks.

Arthur chuckles. “Still wantin’ some learnin’, hm?”

Isaac nods confidently. “If I’m gonna be a lawyer, I am gonna have to go to school. College, too!”

This boy impresses him. Never in his days did he see the next generation of his line successful in any sort of career outside of lawlessness. If he hadn’t been there that day of the robbery, he wouldn’t even have a son to even entertain the desire.

“It’s whatever you wanna do, son. I’ll see to it that we’re close enough to get you into school.”

“Thanks, Dad. I want to make sure I learn enough to represent people right,” Isaac continues, his gaze fixed on the distance, a determined glint in his youthful eyes.

Arthur nods, his heart filling with a mix of pride and a sobering reality. He looks ahead, contemplating the vastness that unfolds before them.

They continue their journey across the sprawling plain, where the vast expanse stretches endlessly under the wide sky. As they progress, they encounter a steep hill that descends sharply, its incline intimidating with its rugged terrain. Arthur observes the coach gradually slowing its pace, which is understandable given the daunting steepness of the descent. The horses' hooves tread carefully, their every step measured against the gravity pulling them downward, while the wheels creak slightly as they adjust to the challenging slope.

“Steady your horse, son,” Arthur instructs, and he eases Boadicea up so he can keep at a slower pace to monitor Isaac’s riding. He looks over his shoulder at Sandstone and calls to her gently. “Easy, girl. We’re slowin’ down a bit.”

Isaac grips Rooster’s reins a bit tighter, matching his father’s pace. The descent is slow and cautious, the horses’ muscles tense under the strain of the steep slope. The air grows cooler as they reach deeper parts, shadows casting over the trail, giving off an isolated yet serene atmosphere. The sounds of birds and the ground being disturbed accompany the silence in the travelers, as though a mutual understanding of concentration is involved.

Now, Arthur is a skilled rider. He’s raced down hills like these more than once. But a large stagecoach being pulled by a team of horses requires a different sort of mentality. Arthur can’t help but watch it steadily, his thoughts going to his wife and daughter in that wagon.

You and his little girl. 

The driver lifts his boot to apply it to the brake mechanism, a friction brake, and pushes down on the pedal. The last thing he wants is for the weight of the wagon to move faster than the horses are, so it is a balancing act between keeping the horses steady and the wagon moving gently down the hill.

But the tension in the brake feels…off. It is almost too easy to push down on the pedal with his foot. And just as he leans out to look at the wagon wheel, the wheel axles grind ominously, a sharp squeak cutting through the air like a warning cry. The driver’s eyes widen, his hands tightening around the reins as he shouts back to the guard. “Hold on—somethin’s wrong!”

Arthur hears the urgency in the voice, prompting him to glance up with a furrowed brow etched with concern. The air is thick with tension, and there is no time for anyone to react before the brake disengages with a metallic clatter, parts scattering like startled birds. A piece collides with the already precarious pin that connects the singletree to the traces and coach, nudging it ever closer to disaster. As the wagon hits a jarring bump in the road, the pin is finally jarred loose, shooting out like a bullet. The coach driver, caught off guard, is yanked from his perch as the horses, now terrified and wide-eyed, break into a frenzied gallop down the steep hill, dragging him helplessly along the chaotic descent.

Leaving the stagecoach speeding down the hill.

***

You heard the loud cry of the driver as he got yanked from his seat. You feel the inertia of the stagecoach’s descent down the hill. You don’t know exactly what happened, but you see the landscape speeding by you.

You’re going too fast with no chance of slowing down.

Mrs. Craig screams, holding onto her husband as he tries to brace himself.

Alice is still asleep in your lap.

If the coach rolls, you know that there is a slim chance that you will survive.

Then, sharply into the haze, you hear your name.

“Eliza…!”

Unable to move, you strain to look through the window and see Arthur riding up, galloping on Boadicea.

“Get that door open…!”

Your eyes meet Dr. Craig, and, trying to move while his wife clutches onto him, he reaches the door, turning the latch with a shaky hand. The door swings open with a violent jerk as the coach lurches over a rock. The cold air blasts into the cabin, carrying with it dust and the sharp scent of panic.

“Y’all need to jump!” Arthur yells, his voice rough against the roaring wind. He maneuvers Boadicea expertly closer to the coach, her powerful hooves pounding the ground in a steady rhythm that keeps pace with the runaway stagecoach. The ground is uneven, dangerous, and you know every second counts.

Arthur reaches out his hand, his expression tense. "Hand Alice to me!"

You look at Alice in your lap. You need to wake her up.

You shake her gently at first, then more urgently. "Alice! Alice, wake up! We need to jump!"

But she doesn’t stir. That is when you desperately open your hand and smack her firmly on the back. “Alice…!”

Her eyes flutter open, wide and confused at the chaos around her. You don't have time to explain; every jolt and rattle of the coach threatens to topple it over entirely. With a strength that only comes from adrenaline, you hoist her up to her feet, her footing wobbly as she struggles to balance. “Jump to Daddy, darling,” you urge her, moving behind her to force her to the door.

The light is bright outside, and Alice squints momentarily. She’s so confused. What is going on? She feels disoriented, but the sight of her father, reaching out fervently from atop his horse, instills an instinctive trust.

“To me…!” he calls to her.

And she leaps without hesitation.

Arthur catches her with one arm, the muscle of his grip firm and secure as he pulls her onto Boadicea's saddle in front of him. He turns his head, shouting back to you. “I can only carry one more…!” He holds out his hand to you. “Jump, Darlin’!”

You know he’s thinking of his family, choosing who to save. It’s the logical choice to choose his loved ones over strangers. If he had the opportunity to save you all before the coach rolls or crashes, he would.

But you can also choose.

Still bracing yourself by holding tight to the frame of the stagecoach, you back up into it and turn toward Mrs. Craig and reach for her. “Come on.”

But she’s resistant, holding onto her husband and shaking her head fervently. “No…!” she screams at the top of her lungs. “Don’t make me!”

You don’t have time for this. Not now. Throwing propriety out the window, you slap her across the face, knocking some sense into her.

She gasps from the shock, her eyes wide, but it's the wake-up call she needed. "Go!" you shout, pulling her up from the seat and pushing her towards the door where Arthur waits anxiously.

Mrs. Craig, propelled by your force, stumbles toward the door, her hands flailing for anything to grab onto. Dr. Craig's voice breaks through his fear, urging her on. "Jump, dearest! You must!"

With a final glance back at her husband, Mrs. Craig leaps from the shaking coach into Arthur's waiting grip. He grunts with the effort, but manages to secure her behind him on Boadicea, his face set with worried eyes as he looks back at you. He knows you made the honorable choice, but time is running out, and he wishes you had chosen to spare yourself. The coach lurches violently again, a bone-shaking tilt that nearly throws you off your feet.

Arthur's eyes are wide with fear and urgency. "Eliza! Now! Jump!"

The world seems to slow as you calculate the distance and the risk. The ground blurs past, seconds blurring faster. You go to Dr. Craig, helping him to his feet. “Try to land on your side,” you say.

Arthur sees the doctor reach the opening first. No. It should be you! “Eliza…!”

“Go! Stop the horses!” you call out to him. “We need the horses!”

He doesn’t want to leave you. He had told Isaac to stay back, and the last thing he wants is his son to try to help and get too close.

Arthur's jaw tightens, his decision torn between duty and desperation. With one last searing look that could melt the heart of any stone, he kicks Boadicea's flanks gently, urging her to gallop toward the frenzied team ahead. His form diminishes in size as he rides away, a silhouette against the stark landscape, his resolve firm despite the palpable fear.

You look at the doctor, returning to your task at hand. “Go on, Doctor. I’m right behind you.”

Dr. Craig, with a final nod at you, takes his leap. The wind catches his coat, flapping it like the wings of some great bird as he crashes into the rough dirt alongside the trail, rolling awkwardly but managing to avoid serious injury. You watch him tumble, relief washing over you as he comes to a stop without any apparent harm. Your heart races, the adrenaline pushing you to act quickly. The coach continues its perilous descent, each bump and jolt a grim reminder of the danger still present.

In its path are a cluster of trees, large enough to make a life-ending collision.

You have to jump now.

With a deep breath, you position yourself at the door, gripping the frame for a moment of stability. Your heart pounding, you take one last look at the terrain whizzing by, trying to calculate your landing. The ground is rough, unforgiving, but you have no choice.

Then, with a surge of determination fueled by the need to protect your family—to survive—you push off from the coach, hurling yourself into the open air. Your body arcs through the dusty breeze, every moment stretched taut with tension. You hit the ground with a thud, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs as you roll to dissipate the force. Grit and small stones bite into your skin, but the feeling is suppressed when you hear an audible crack.

It's your arm. Pain sears through it, sharp and biting, leaving you unable to move. Each attempt sends waves of agony through your injured limb, but the fear of what could have happened if you didn’t jump creates a reassurance that you’d rather be incapacitated than dead.

You then hear the loud crash from the stagecoach ramming into the trees and falling on its side. It is loud and almost deafening, for nothing can be heard for a few long seconds afterward. The heavy silence that follows is suffocating, only broken by the distant whinnying of terrified horses and scattered cries of distress.

You let your body lie still for a few moments. Just for a short while, because you need to get up.

After a minute more, you roll on your back and look up at the sky. You don’t know whether Arthur managed to get the horses or not, but when you hear their whinnying start to simmer down, you feel a wave of relief.

You then hear thundering horse hooves come near you.

“Ma…!” It is Isaac. “Mama…!”

Struggling to your feet, you ignore the throbbing pain in your arm and stagger as you take a few steps. Turning your sore neck, you spot Rooster skid to a halt just a few feet in front of you before Isaac quickly dismounts. You don’t want to worry him, but you can’t manage a smile. “I’m…okay,” you say.

“You jumped!” Then his eyes fall to your arm, and he gasps, his skin turning nearly white.

“Yes, I jumped.” Movement at the corner of your eye gathers your attention, and looking up the hill, you see Dr. Craig walking weakly over to you, clearly stunned from the event. He looks to be alright, though, not holding anything like it is broken. “Doctor! Are you alright?”

He nods his head. “I’m sure I’ll be getting some major bruising,” he pants, then his eyes study your posture and the way you hold your arm, and the crooked bend in the forearm.

Dr. Craig quickly approaches you, his brow furrowed with concern. "Let me see that," he says, gently taking your arm in his hands. His touch is professional but tender, and despite the pain, you're grateful for his expertise right here in the wild.

“But your wife…” you begin to say before a shot of pain goes through you. “She must be worried about you.”

“She isn’t the one with a broken arm, I’m sure, thanks to your husband.” As he examines your arm, his expression turns serious. "You're going to need a splint for this, but I will need to reset it first." Dr. Craig says as he lifts his head. “I don’t doubt my medical bag is with the wreckage.”

You look at your son. You don’t want him to see what the doctor is about to do, so you decide to put him on a task. “Isaac, go get your father. See if you can find Dr. Craig’s medical bag.”

Isaac nods, his expression set with resolve as he turns and runs up the hill towards the wrecked coach, his steps swift and determined. His youthful energy is palpable, even in the face of crisis, and you can't help but feel a swell of pride for his bravery.

Dr. Craig continues to hold your arm and meets your eyes again. “Are you ready, Mrs. Morgan?”

You nod stiffly, bracing yourself against the pain you know is imminent. "Yes, Doctor. Just do it quickly."

Dr. Craig positions himself, his fingers gently probing the misaligned bones before he grips your arm firmly near the wrist and elbow. "On my count," he warns, and before you can tense up further, he swiftly adjusts the bones back into place with a quick, sharp movement. 

You can't hold back a cry of pain as the bones click into alignment. “Oh…GOD….!!!!”

"It’s done. Good," Dr. Craig says candidly, his face etched with focus. “Let’s hold it steady as we go down this hill. We need to get it in a splint and quickly.”

***

At the bottom of the hill, Arthur finishes tying the lead horses to a tree, hopefully keeping them there at least long enough for you all to figure out what you’re doing. His hands are shaky, eager to get back to you, uncertain if you made the jump. 

He doesn’t want to find you among the wreckage. He found the coach driver, dead from being dragged and trampled, and the guard severely injured but alive. His heart aches at the sight—lives disrupted and forever altered.

Your loud cry alerts him immediately. As he turns back, his eyes scan for your form, anxiety churning his gut until he spots you supported by Dr. Craig. “Alice, stay here!” he orders his daughter, who remains atop Boadicea with Mrs. Craig standing by. He sprints up the hill, his steps uneven with haste and fear, unsure of what could have made you scream so. But you’re still standing.

“Eliza?!” he calls out to you.

Your voice is thin as you manage a weak smile through the pain. "Arthur, I'm fine," you respond, your eyes meeting his as he nears.

Arthur's face tightens with relief mixed with deep concern as he approaches, his eyes flicking over you, taking in your stance and how you cradle your arm, changing his course. He refrains from touching your arms, but once near, he cradles your face in his hands. “What happened?”

“Her arm is broken,” Dr. Craig explains. “I need to make her a splint.”

Arthur isn’t unfamiliar with broken bones and grave injuries. He’s had to help manufacture splints and crutches for wounded members of the gang before. “We can make one.” He turns to look back at the stagecoach, seeing Isaac searching about the wreckage. “We got plenty of wood to make one.”

Your heart sinks a little. You figured there would be a slim chance that the coach could be repaired, but you were hoping on the edge of miracles. After all, these past few weeks have been living proof that miracles do happen.

Dr. Craig nods, taking charge of the situation like a good physician. “Good. Get going then, Mr. Morgan. I will tend to your wife.”

You see the struggle in your husband’s eyes, and you reach out with your good arm to squeeze his hand. “It’s alright, Arthur. You go on. I’ll meet you down there.”

Arthur hesitates, taking an aborted step backwards. But he pauses, and shaking his head, he approaches you. “No.” As you’re about to protest, he scoops you up carefully, avoiding your broken arm but supporting you well. “I’ll carry you down.”

As Arthur carries you down the hill, his steps are careful and deliberate, each one measured to avoid any jostling that might worsen your pain. The warmth of his body against yours is a small comfort in the midst of the chaos, his silence a testament to the gravity of the situation. You rest your head against his, letting yourself show vulnerability. You moan softly as the shock of the break wears off, and any movement feels like a hundred pins being jabbed into your skin.

“I know it hurts, darlin’,” Arthur whispers softly into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “It’ll be alright.” He lifts his head to call down to his son. “Isaac! Start pullin’ out pieces of wood. Small ones! Your mama needs a splint.”

Despite Arthur’s tender hold and his quickened steps, the descent down the hill feels like forever. You imagine you are battered and bruised, but you don’t want this to deter you. You want to keep going, to make it to your new home, wherever that is. 

You can’t quit now.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate you for giving my story a chance.

Tag Requests: @photo1030 @eternalsams

*If you would like to be tagged or removed from the tag list, just lmk!

[indiestar]

If you wanted you could: restore me, bring me back, make me whole. You're choosing otherwise.

[great-and-small]

The majority of the Earth’s rodents: How do you survive environments with practically zero oxygen, feel no pain, and live for decades when none of the rest of us can???

Naked mole-rats:

[yeepof]

I understand that tall men are our POV characters, but surely being like a foot taller than everyone around them would have some occasional consequences

[cutepethut]

[abbielauren2024]

Reblog if you’re grateful for your commenters <3

[rennerei]

...😎😎🌟

[aroaceleovaldez]

i had a thought of "do people not know what AUs are anymore?" and then i remembered nobody explains fandom stuff to new people anymore so it is entirely plausible people genuinely don't know what AUs are and nobody has explained it to them, so for today's lucky 10,000:

"AU" stands for "Alternate Universe" or "Alternative Universe" (same difference) and is basically any thought scenario for a fandom that isn't canon and can't fit within the canon universe. If it takes place in the canon universe but something is notably different, that is typically what's known as a "Canon divergent AU," because it diverges from canon.

an AU can be absolutely anything. There's a couple of widespread pan-fandom au scenarios that often get thrown around, like coffee shop aus, genderbend aus, hanahaki aus (hanahaki is a whole thing in itself i'd recommend researching on your own), etc. One you might hear sometimes is "crossover AU" which is when you have characters from one fandom interacting with characters from another.

You can have as many aus as you want. They can be whatever you want and you can do whatever you want in them. It's a sandbox for you to play around in and explore how things would be different or how the characters would act in those circumstances or environments. Maybe they have different relationships with each other. Maybe they behave slightly differently. Or you can just say "Okay, [x] is true. How did they get here? How would things have to be different for this to occur?" which can also be fun.

If you are ever confused about why people ship something that seems completely out of the blue or doesn't make sense to you in the canon setting, there's a good chance they like it in an AU setting! Not everything everybody is interacting with is necessarily the canon! Not everybody wants things to exist in canon and just want to explore playing dolls in a different sandbox and that's okay. And their sandbox might look a lot different than yours, and that's also okay. You have the freedom to make your sandbox whatever you please. Do whatever you want forever. Get funky with it. AUs are fun.

Okay that's my schpeal. everybody go have fun and play nice now.

[heavenpureheart]

[vardapilled]

"This film was an incredible opportunity for me. And more than anything, I thought it was an opportunity for me to write a love letter to cinema, to all the things I love about going to the movies. [...] In many ways it's most important movie I've made, straight from me to all of you." - Ryan Coogler

SINNERS (2025) BEHIND THE SCENES (1/2) Dir. Ryan Coogler

[that1geek06]

"English isn't my-"

Hush now my friend, and let me read the absolute beauty of a fic that you have bestowed this world and humiliated the first English speakers with

[indiestar]

If love is just chemicals in the brain, is this message just bits in the machine? Maybe less, but also, maybe, more.

[pink111shit]

[vanillye222]

[rangelssss]

GUESS WHO FOUND their Tumblr password after 2 years ...me