The dust from the sage, and bones of the lost and forgotten, howl through this lonesome prairie, a weeping song offered up to the forlorn and wayward.
The sun bleached and battered skull of an unfortunate beast of burden, marker to the misery this land held. The devil himself turned his back on this patch, with Hell being more hospitable.
The cursed, the hunted and the damned were the only folk staking claim to this crossing, as nowhere else would have them.
She found herself, unjustly or not, among them. Not a scrap to her tarnished name. No good works to cling to, nothing but her hand-woven dress of misdeeds and the grit of sand in her barren womb. Tough as any man, tougher than the three she put back to the ground. Ain’t no right to take what ain’t rightly been given. Ashes to ashes, cocksuckers.
She weren’t the most handsome woman, but she was hard drinkin’ and quick to bed. Able with a knife, sharp with her tongue and quiet as the dead when need be. Took care of herself as best she could, never needing a man, just sometimes wishin’ for one. Taming this mare had proved to best all comers, too wild for the yoke…too proud for the crop.
She now wanders this godless land, praying for a salvation that will never come. Offering only half-hearted penance, and hollow, wingless faith.
Visions of the gallows’ knot fill her fitful, fevered nights.
Cursed, hunted and damned…but no man’s beast of burden.