The town did not look like it had been deserted long. Of the numerous thoughts that found themselves slipping to and fro within Glyph's mind, that was the only one that seemed to have any persistence. She noted the direction of the wind, the sound of the dirt cracking and parting beneath Cipher's horseshoes, and the smell of the outlands that filled the air. That was how she knew that this hovel had not been left to the demons for too long - it had not yet begun to reek. The wood had not splintered and mouldered and rotted into the brackish tar that was so frequently found in sites that had once been able to sustain some life. She felt a twitch. Cipher? Her? The distinction became unclear on the long days. She didn't know where her legs ended and his body began, but the twitch was something they both recognised. They'd been still for too long.

With a wordless motion, Cipher begun a steady trot forwards towards the very edge of the clifftop.

She looked over the edge once. The leap was not too high. They could run across the air if she was ready. The trot became a gallop, and the gallop continued across the edge of the perch of rock they had found themselves upon until small shimmers of runic energy could be seen beneath the horse's feet, carrying them downwards as if the air was a simple incline in the face of the rock. It was a convenient form of magic to have mastered, Glyph knew, and she was thankful for it as she looked across to her east to see the train pulling into the station of a nearby town. Fresh meat from the Capital? Freelance hunters? Likely a mixture of both. They were known not to get on - the infighting would delay them. She knew that the town could be reached more quickly on horseback than by any other means, if one knew the path and the geography of these outlying lands.

It was perhaps not prudent to consider the inevitable surge of Bounty Hunters at all, in fact. If she hurried, she could investigate the soon-to-be ruin of the town before any of them arrived. Cipher sped up just a little, urging her on in thought and body, and she hunkered down close to his head. The bond of trust was evident, and the purpose with which they moved was undeniable. The world was a simpler place when the only purpose you had was to ride, to feel the winds brush past your skin and the breaths flow shallowly from your lungs to the air around you. The clarity of focus helped Glyph remember her purpose, her reason for continuing. This world had taken everything she had ever loved from her: Mateus, her family, her child. She recounted their names each night. Mateus, Darien, Hashmal. Mateus, Darien, Hashmal. She reminded herself of what she fought for, of what she felt she must do, and of how the world would not conquer her as it had conquered them. 

The smarter we are, the more prone to melancholy we become. Glyph had often contemplated on what, precisely, was the downfall of most of her brothers and sisters in arms - and a deep, profound sadness seemed to linger the core of each and every person that walked this barren land. All that thrived in the wasteland was evil and corrupt, and for each hunter that lost their life in the barren wastes, the ash and the corruption grew. Perhaps that was why the demons had not been defeated. Perhaps it was simply not something that was supposed to happen, perhaps that same sadness that drove her forwards had also doomed her to this endlessly repeating nightmare. She paid that thought little mind, however, as she rode towards the ghost town. There was time for philosophy after she had reaped the spoils.