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With the day once again drawing to a close, night settles upon the inhabitants of Talonwood. By this point, most of the populace were finally within the comfort of their own homes, no doubt exhausted by the bustling work they had endured. The sawmills and lumberyards - once plagued with the ear-splitting screech of saws and bellowing dinosaurs - had at last been silenced; with only a handful of workers remaining to check the machinery and to unpack any lumber shipments that had arrived last-minute. The civilians near these noisy establishments would breathe a sigh of relief, savoring the arrival of peace and quiet for as long as they could, before going to bed and start the cycle all over again tomorrow. Any other business still up and running at this hour would either in the process of closing down for the night, or would only be up for another two hours or so.

And high in the cover of the night sky, illuminated only by the pale moonlight, a weary courier was about to complete his long journey upon the back of a huge pterosaur - a Quetzalcoatlus to be precise. The man riding it had on him a large leather bag strapped onto his shoulder, containing various packages and letters to be dropped off at every town he was required to visit. It was a rather taxing job for anyone to accomplish, one that would take up to several days depending on the roadmap. Thankfully for him, Talonwood would be his next-to-last destination before his last stop at the coastal town of Dover Vista, in which afterwards he'll have to make another several day trip back west to his employer.

Soon they would begin to descend upon seeing the town's local post office. The Quetzalcoatlus screeched as it began flapping its wings to maintain control before landing and folding them back. As one of the largest flying creatures alive, its size would be both intimidating yet marveling to any who gaze upon its 5 and a half meter (18 feet) height and its 10 meter (33 foot) wingspan. It was a perfect mount for long distance travel, so as long as one could afford one. The courier would drop a rope down from the pterosaur's back and then slide down it with his brown leathery gloves. Upon landing he would tie the lead attached to the creature onto a large metal column before entering the post office.

The building was nearly empty when the Courier entered, being illuminated only by a few lanterns that hung from the ceilings. The only person he could see was an older man who sat at the front desk, who rose his wrinkled face from the book he was reading. He set it down upon the wooden desk and gave his attention towards the courier.

"Evenin' sir," the older man welcomed in a gravelly voice, "Here for a late night delivery?"

The young brown haired carrier nodded. "Yes sir." he said tiredly as he planted the bag on the desk and took out the mail assigned to Talonwood. From it he took out two large packages and thirteen letters - with five of said envelopes sporting gold trimmed edges and a fancy red-ink stamp that resembled a large lake.

The receptionist inspected each entity carefully before nodding approvingly. "Thank you." he replied slowly as he let the courier go.

As soon as he exited, the receptionist would call over a younger assistant and have him manage with the larger packages. While he did, the receptionist grabbed the letters and take them into a backroom - where he would be greeted by the chirping of five grey-haired Jeholopterus scampering around in a large metal cage. These tiny pterosaurs were most active during the night with their huge eyes, making them ideal candidates for late-night delivery sessions. The old man approached the cage and petted one of the creature's head with his index finger, cooing to them softly with a whistle.

"Good lads..." the man said to them with a light smile as he opened the cage for them. He then extended his arm towards the cage to allow all five of them to crawl onto his arm as they continued with their soft chirping. Some would bicker with one another - wanting their owner's attention all to themselves - while a few nuzzled the man's neck or nibbled at his ears. Their tiny needle-like teeth would hurt a bit, but the man was used to their chaotic antics.

"Alright, alright," the man chuckled as he carefully placed them onto his desk, "Y'all can settle down now. We got some work to do."

The man would then proceed to take the letters and the pterosaurs cage as he proceed to head through a back door outside. There he would be greeted to his female telmatosaurus mount in the yard, who arose from her nap to greet his owner. The old man gently patted the hadrosaurid, giving her a fresh piece of fern before they went on their way to complete the job.

For every stop, the old man would ring his bellow to announce his presence before assigning any of his Jeholopterus a letter. He would then instruct them to fly towards the house or apartment before returning to him and being rewarded with a mealworm as a reward. They could drop the mail off at either their respected mail box or fly through an open window and drop it directly inside if need be.

For the five lucky individuals receiving the gold-trimmed envelopes, the contents of which contained both a letter and a map. The letter would be written as followed:

Morgan was up and awake this morning earlier than any other morning he could remember. Hell, he was awake when the farm's dodo crowed to alert them that it was the crack of dawn. For someone who was about to live-out their lifelong dream, he had an awful lot of butterflies in his stomach. The farmboy paced across his room a number of times as he ran a hand through his hair before taking a deep breath and releasing it with an even quicker exhale. "C'mon Morgan, yer a big boy. Bein a yellah belly sittin in tha dark an doin nothin ain't yer style...no ifs or buts." The large man tells himself as he shakes his whole body in an attempt to remove the feeling of fear, doubt, and anxiety. He felt a little braver now but his heart still hammered in his chest. With a determined look on his face, he grabs his favorite hat and scarf from the wooden end table beside his tidied bed and dons them. Now he felt a lot better now he had them on his person. Taking his pack, the redheaded farmer headed down the second floor of the farmhouse.

Much to his surprise, his family was already up and about. His mother and sister-in-law were finishing whipping up some breakfast. His older brother and father were setting the table. And his niece and baby sister were playing with Bobo the Microraptor, the family's house pet. All of them paused what they were doing when they saw Morgan. "What's everyone doin up so early?" His father was the one to speak up and answer his question. "Well, we can't say goodbye ta ya if we didn't, now can we?" Morgan was moved. Only a couple of nights ago they were arguing and yelling at each other regarding the letter but now they were acting as if nothing happened. He could feel his eyes water a little as he kept going down the flight of stairs before setting down his pack beside his usual spot at the table and taking a seat. His family followed in suit. They had prepared his favorite foods for his farewell breakfast as this may as well be the very last time he would be sharing a meal with him for a very long time. They would share stories, memories, and laughter that would soon devolve into barely held back sobs and whimpers as they finished their meals.

With a heavy heart, Morgan grabbed his pack and stood up from the table. His mother was wailing into his father's shoulder as he tried his best to console her through his own tears. His brother was keeping a convincing brave face but he could see a tear or two running down ol' Henry's face. His niece and baby sister, however, were bawling their eyes out and clinging onto Morgan for what seemed for dear life. They would be the straw that would break the proverbial camel's back as Morgan broke down into a blubbering mess as he hugged them both tightly and promising that he'd send letters as much as he can while traveling Westward. The rest of the Whittaker clan failed to resist giving the youngest son and brother one last hug and followed in suit to join the messy noisy goodbye. So much for him steeling himself to make things a clean and quiet exit...he was almost sure they'd wake up the dead with all the racket they caused. The initial plan of leaving before his family knew he was gone crashed and burned magnificently in a mess of tears, wailing, good food, and near incoherent goodbyes, well wishes, and words of affection.

The farmer may have left a little later and a lot more disheveled than he would like to admit, but he also left feeling more confident than ever and even more driven to succeed in his endeavor to the West.

He felt like he could take on the world and actually win.

The night that the letters were sent out, Ransom Burke remained in the cell that had been set aside for him following his testimony. Two weeks ago, he'd been arrested at his favorite local pub. Only now were the last remnants of his facial bruises beginning to fade. A week ago, he'd sold out the man he'd once considered to be something alone the lines of of best friend -- or, perhaps, brother. The plea deal was meant to give him his freedom, but this was nothing like freedom. With no semblance of witness protection in the city, he wouldn't last very long outside of these walls. Even outside of the city, he was certain he'd be tracked down and shot or slain or worse. Even this cell was becoming less safe with each day -- it was a matter of time before his other former associates took care of him to prevent him from ratting on them.

And so the letter was something of a saving grace. Mail was typically delivered to inmates with no emphasis on timeliness, but the odd timing of the letter, coupled with the mailroom operator's own curiosity, eventually brought the letter to Ransom's cell some time after midnight. A knock on the bars startled him and broke him from his silent reflection.

"Mail for you, Mr. Burke," the guard muttered, slipping the envelope through the bars and onto the floor of the cell. "Seems something important."

"Thank you," Ransom rasped, his voice weighed down by disuse. He gave a quick cough to clear his throat as he opened the letter and lifted it to read. The guard hadn't made it far down the block before Ransom was up the against the bars of the cell. "You now! Go on, get that warden of yours!"

Through a bit of shouting and waving the letter in the warden's face, Ransom found himself standing outside of the jail in the early morning as a guard was sent to fetch Pandora from the jail's stables. As the Gallimimus caught sight of Ransom, she cried out and pulled against her reins towards him. She squawked as the guard holding her tugged against her, and she quickly whipped around to snap at his fingers. In fright, the guard dropped her reins, and she darted forward, nearly knocking Ransom back as he secured his arms around her neck.

Pandora plucked at his newly-washed hair as though to groom him as he stepped back and inspected her feathers in an equally affectionate manner. They'd done a piss-poor job taking care of her feathers, he noted, and he figured the first time they made camp, he would take care to groom her.

Another guard had returned then with the belongings Ransom would take with him. A collection of guns and clothes and other personal effects had been gathered from the Burke household where his mother had held on to them after his arrest. Knowing she would convince him to stay, Ransom had sent a letter with the guard giving his best wishes to his mother and three sisters while detailing his plans to head out West. An empty promise at the end detailed how he would send for them when the time was right.

In the mean time, Ransom situated his belongings and mounted up. He had a bit of a ride ahead of him to reach Talonwood for his departure.

"Let's go, girl," he grumbled, pressing his heels against her flanks. The sun had begun to rise over the horizon now, and with it to their back, man and beast set off for the edge of civilization.

The young lady looked down into the stable stall, smiling as a mother Pectinodon cleaned her hatchlings up after breaking out of their eggs. Once dried off, they would each be a tiny, chirping fluffball wandering around the nest. Fluffballs with sharp teeth and claws, but adorable nonetheless. Their mother shot a nasty look at Sarah before baring her teeth. "Oh, you know me Cara," she said. She kept her tone low and soothing. "Been checking on you every other day since you laid that clutch. I'm not gonna hurt your babies."

Sarah glanced at the nest. Out of twelve eggs, seven had hatched. The other five were either unfertilized, or the offspring within had died. It was sad, but it happened. She hopped down from the stool and headed out, where she was greeted by the dinosaur's owner, a man a little older than Sarah named William. Ran a hardware store in town. "How's she doin'?"

"Well she laid that clutch a month ago, so right now, she's fine," Sarah said. "You have seven chicks out of twelve eggs, so I'd say if you want to sell them when they're the right age, you've got some work ahead of you to make sure they're trained properly. Mama's a bit protective right now, but I think she'll be more tolerant of you than me. Just make sure they're all getting the food and water they need. Remember: troodontids are omnivorous, so they need some leaves or fruit in their diet as well."

William nodded. "How much do I owe you?"

"Just send a Dryosaurus haunch my way," Sarah said. She waved over her shoulder as a large carnivore rose from where he was sitting, eyes glowing a golden yellow. She patted the dinosaur's snout. "Onca will appreciate it." She got up in the saddle, and headed back towards her home on the edge of town.

It was a small property near a stream, with a small, single-room house, an outhouse, a storage shed, and a stable for Onca; however, the dinosaur didn't seem to like the stable, and preferred sleeping underneath the old oak tree unless it was time for acorns to drop. Sarah directed Onca towards the stable, where she took his saddle and reins off. She quietly sighed, stopping by her mailbox to see if there was anything.

To Sarah's great surprise, there actually was. She blinked, surprised. It wasn't from the bank, or one of her clients. She'd have to read it in the morning. But for now, it was time for some rest.

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Clarabella closed her eyes and sighed; this was the first real moment of relaxation she had gotten in several days. The restless nights spent camping on uncomfortable ground had made her lower back ache and throb with pain. Every stranger she passed on the road was a potential murderer or rapist. Or, heaven forbid, both. Worrying about every movement and sound in the darkness; what kind of predator was it? Was it a native? Or was it a wolf or a raptor? None of these had done her many favors when it came to her anxiety level. Now, her body soaking in the warm, soapy bathwater, all she wanted to do was fall asleep.

She reached to her side and picked glass of whiskey off a small side-table. bringing it to her lips and swallowing with a grimace. It was strong, but after so many days suffering fried nerves, she needed something strong. She replaced the glass, cupped her hands in the bathwater, and brought them to her face; the water washing away the last few days of tension. She sunk lower into the tub, letting the water come up to her chin. She blew out a breath and the bubbles collecting around her face blew into the air.

She was in a hotel bathroom. It wasn't a high-end hotel, but it had a private room and offered a bath for a reasonable price. The room was lit by a few oil lamps, their wicks burning low to keep the room at a warm and relaxing light. The large, metal tub sat in the center of the room. The only other piece of furniture was a storage cabinet that held all the bath essentials. It had been cleverly disguised as an armoire to keep up appearances. There was a curtained window, but on the second floor with no surrounding buildings to give sight-lines, Clarabella felt she had an appropriate level of privacy.

She heard Brutus groan from outside in their stables. One would think they would have a place large enough for an animal of his considerable size, but one would be mistaken. He wasn't happy, but she believed he needed the rest as much as she did.

She lolled her head to one side; a candle sit on the table next to her whiskey. She stared into it, the flame reflecting off her dark brown, almost black, eyes.

She remembered the fire. She remembered waking to thunder and rain, her body crying in pain. Reminiscently, a hand trailed below her left breast, caressing the scarred and knotted flesh where the bullet had struck her. She took another long sip of her whiskey, savoring the burn as it flowed down her throat. The bullet had narrowly missed her heart, the only major injury she sustained was a couple of broken ribs. She should've been dead. The family name wasn't well known, so to those who knew her, she was dead.

"Jezisa," she muttered, downing the rest of her whiskey. "What kind of word is 'Jezisa' anyway?" She poured another three fingers from the bottle she requested be left behind and fought the urge not to drink from it.

"Do not go after them, Miss Cain." The words echoed in her mind.

'Joseph'. That was the name she knew him by. His skin dark as night, his upper body covered in scars that resembled crocodile flesh. He was a killer, a soldier, a savior in his homeland. But here, in a world that didn't belong to him, he was a slave. But he trained her, and he trained her well. She lied about the black eyes, the cuts and bruises and muscle soreness, saying it was the fault of an overenthusiastic Woolly Rhino or Parasaur. But it was his fault. He damn near beat her into submission a dozen times.

"These natives fight like animals. You think they will stop when you lose your feet?"

"Lose your footing." She had corrected him. He had struggled with her language initially. A mispronunciation here, an awkward metaphor there. She learned not to correct him when they were training…

"No," he stated harshly, stomping on her bare feet with his heel. "You think they will stop when they destroy your feet? Cripple your opponent before he cripples you. Hurt him so he never has the ability to do so again."

Her hand drifted to her collarbone and touched her other scar. She remembered the feeling as it went in; red-hot, like 100 piercing needles. The audible sound as it bounced off her collarbone and buried itself deep in her chest. She winced at the memory.

After wandering the eastern coast for a week, living frugally and discretely to not draw attention, she had gotten the foolish idea in her mind to head West only a couple days ago. She rationalized the decision not as running away, but as starting over. She had the skills to find placement on a ranch or, if she was lucky, build one of her own. She entertained the thought of what she would call it and what she would raise, then stowed it away to not lose focus.

The windows shook as some massive beast descended into town. A screech was heard, and the animals in the stables below her responded with their own vocals. It wasn't an unwelcome disturbance; hearing other animals after days of hearing nothing but Brutus' flatulence and her own heartbeat.

There was a knock on the bathroom door and Claire sighed. "I still have 20 minutes." She declared.

"I know, Miss Cain. A letter arrived for you." A meek, female voice responded.

Claire cocked a brow. "Well, come in then. Give it here."

The door opened slowly, and Claire draped her hand over the other side of the tub where her holster hung. She felt the cold steel and wooden handgrip caress her fingertips. She fingered the hammer back out of caution with a 'click'. A young woman, younger than her but not at all lacking in her upstairs assets, entered the room. She dressed in a blue and white frilled dress. Her hair piled tight on top, was loose enough to allow a few strands to tumble down to her shoulders. She caught sight of Claire's body and blushed.

Claire, noticing the discomfort, released the grip on her revolver. She pulled a pile of bubbles towards her and tried to cover herself. "Come on, now. I don't have anything you don't." She said with a chuckle.

The woman stammered. "I know, Miss Cain. Just…trying to maintain your privacy is all." She handed the Claire the letter.

Claire waved her off. "Read it to me. My hands are wet." She raised one hand out of the water, but the other hung over the side. Just in case.

The girl, taken aback by being allowed to read someone's mail, delicately went about opening the ornate envelope.

As the girl read, Claire stared into the candlelight. This letter wasn't meant for her; she was sure of it. The thought ran through her mind that she might've received the letter by mistake. She doubted anyone would deliver a letter to a random hotel in a place like this. When the girl had finished, Claire still hadn't broken her gaze with the candle.

"Sounds exciting, Miss Cain." The girl said, the smile audible on her face.

"Did whoever give this to you say who it was for?" Claire ignored her statement.

"All's he said was the original address wasn't there no more. That it'd burned down."

Claire swallowed. It was for her. "How did he know to bring it here?" She asked, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek nervously.

"He said some man directed him where to go. Said you'd be in this town, in this hotel, at this time."

Claire scoffed. "Joseph, you bastard…" She muttered under her breath.

The girl looked up from the letter. "You say something, Miss Cain?"

Claire shook her head. "No," she said. "Would you mind handing me a towel, I'm starting to prune." She stood up out of the tub and onto the floor, not caring that the girl damn near fainted from the sight. She took the offered towel and wrapped it around her body. Claire waved off any other help the girl tried to give her and asked her to leave.

She threw on the nightshirt they had given her. Her clothes were being washed and wouldn’t' be ready until tomorrow morning. She fixed her hair as best she could, combing it and tying it back into a loose ponytail. She had already eaten, so she wasn't planning on going out. The desire to lay on a warm, soft bed was overwhelming. Collecting her belt, she walked back to her room, entered, and locked the door behind her.

Claire flopped onto the bed and examined the letter. As she has suspected, the letter wasn't for her.

"Mr. Archibald Cain & Family…" She said, reading the name on the front of the envelope. It was for her father.

She had guessed word didn't reach Lakewood about his unfortunate death. But, then again, living a couple hours ride from any established fort or town, word wasn't known to travel far unless it was required.

She pondered the letter, examining all its intricacies and beauty, Clarabella Cain drifted off to sleep an hour or so later. Though, when she awoke, she had the same thought in her mind from the night before.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

After delivering the messages to their respected residents, the old Courier would be left with only one last letter. However, unlike the others, he knew who the person was. It was for one "William E. Buckland", a retired sheriff who was in charge of a pre-industrial Talonwood. He was in charge for a good 20 years before he relieved himself from his position, just before the town's great expansion. Now he lives alone on a small farm just outside of town, where he'd remained ever since.

It would take him a solid twenty minutes from his current location, but eventually the courier would arrive at Buckland's little farm. It was already fifteen minutes after nine by the time he arrived. He found himself standing a good meters away from the old cabin's door, blankly looking at it for a solid second before returning to life. The courier hadn't seen the ex-sheriff since he departed from his duty and while he considers him as a friend, he'd hesitate in wanting to speak to him. After all, it was late and no doubt he would prefer to be alone at this hour.

Like before, the courier would send out his post-pterosaur as it fluttered towards the house. It would notice the front window that was already opened and quietly perched on the windowsill. It made little noise as it cautiously entered the house, its huge eyes quickly darting from corner to corner as it attempted to locate the owner. But no later as it stepped foot into the household, a raspy cawing hiss would rapture from the darkness as another flying creature emerged from the messenger's left. It was a large dimorphodon, famous for their large head-to-body ratio and the vane situated on their long tail. While it was considerably small in human standards - being 1 meter in length with a 1.45 meter wingspan - it was still large enough to kill the smaller Jeholopterus. The anurognathid screeched loudly as it hastily dropped the envelope and fluttered back to its master before they both hastily retreated into the night.

The dimorphodon cawed loudly as it flapped its wings in a victory pose. Yet its ruckus would be successful in awakening the inhabitant from his room - none other than William Buckland himself.

"Hell," the ex-sheriff cursed as he rubbed his forehead, "Quiet down! Just what's the matter with you, Casper?"

The smiling pterosaur cocked his head at his owner, chattering his teeth in rapid succession to form a friendly greeting. He'd peck the envelope to show William the curious envelope he retrieved from what he believed to be an intruder.

"A letter?" he asked confusingly, "At this hour? It must be darn important if that's the case."

The old man glanced down and plucked it from the table, carefully opening it. He rubbed his bone-white mustache as he began to read the contents.

Buckland took a deep sigh once he finished, nodding at the task that was lain before him. He had been waiting his letter for a long time, perhaps a little too long in fact. Already he had everything in place for the event of such a rapid departure for the past six months. He had his gear, his mount, and most importantly the new owner of his little farm. Due to the fact that no one wanted to buy his property, he planned to give it to his younger brother who lived a few miles to the south and have him deal with the property.

Quite frankly, Buckland knew that this was a risky and bold investment. But really what's more that he could loose at this point? Or know what to do here for that matter? Casper chatted curiously as his owner turned to scratch the side of his beak.

"Well lil' bud." he stated with a light smile, "The time has finally come. We'll be leaving first thing, tomorrow."

With that, he closes the window and shuts the blind. They had a long day ahead of them.

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With the morning fully underway, Buckland quickly packed any last minute supplies that he believed he would need. He already had his guns, a few minor tools, rations, blankets, amongst others, but he wanted to be completely sure that he was at the very least comfortable in the long journey ahead. He gathered the skinned bags as he exited the backdoor and walked towards the stable with Casper on his shoulder.

"C'mon Charlyne!" he whistled as he opened the thick wooden gate.

From within, he would see a large creature lazily rear her head to greet the old man with a snort. Charlyne was a fully-grown female Iguaunodon, a beautiful brown and white-striped specimen who had served Buckland for years as his trusty steed. She met him when she was only a hatchling and with his great care and service she had made a collective bond with her owner. Until now, she had also been living quietly on the farm, usually seen grazing upon the pastures amongst a small flock of smaller Gideonmantellia during the day. Now she too will go on the long journey west to find new and fresh pastures on which to feed.

Buckland gently caressed the creature's boxy head, feeling her hot breath gaze the side of his face. She could also feel like something was different, making her a tad bit antsy and uncertain. "Eaaasy girl." the man whispered softly as he patted her neck softly, "It's gonna be ok.". The iguanodon began to slowly calm down, as if she was coming to agreement of what was about to come.

Once she was a little calmer, Buckland would set the saddle and supplies on her back before getting on himself. Once on, Casper would descend and perch on his owner's shoulder, clattering his jaws in anticipating excitement. With everyone now aboard, Buckland grabbed ahold of the reins and signaled for her to move.

"Onward!" he called as they would officially departure for their journey to Lakewood.

Morgan had traveled well over six hours with Shelly, having only recently passed through Talonwood on his way West. The sun was well up in the blue sky when the boredom struck him unexpectedly."Darn...maybe shoulda brought mah mandolin or ah book or somethin." The farmer said to himself as the ankylosaurid plodded along the trail. Admittedly the start of any adventure wasn't exciting. He's almost sure that his wasn't any different. He let out a sigh and decided that maybe he'd just buy something in the next town or something. But then a lantern lit up inside his head as he realized something.

He could try singing without an instrument accompanying him.

"Shelly, I'm a genius." He says to the Euoplocephalus that seems to rumble in response. "Ey! Ah don't want no sass from ya." Morgan says playfully before he clears his throat and starts humming a tune of a song he heard a number of times the local band sang in the saloon whenever he visited before starting to sing the song with a voice as sweet as chocolate.

After reading the letter in the morning, Sarah had wrestled with deciding what to do. She had settled down in this little town, and it was starting to feel like home. But five hundred dollars, plus land to do with as she pleased? It was tempting. Having land was what had brought her family to the Midwestern region, where the prairies allowed for herd animals like hadrosaurs and ceratopsians to flourish. But the far West was another ball game. Species she was unfamiliar with, the possibility of illness and injury... there were a hundred and one things that could go wrong.

She took a breath, making up her mind.

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It took several hours to get everything squared away, between packing essentials and negotiating the sale of the property and things she couldn't take with, but eventually Sarah was ready. Essentials, like clothes, her weapons, money, and a few other belongings, were packed into a series of saddlebags on Onca's back. He wasn't thrilled about the extra weight, but the Ceratosaurus seemed both curious and excited about what was happening. Sarah gave the dinosaur a kick in the ribs.

"Alright, Talonwood. Here we come."

Ransom and Pandora had been riding for hours by the time they finally made it to Talonwood. The sun had finally caught up to them, and it hung overhead. It was a much smaller city than he was used to - more of a town, he was beginning to realize. He tightened the grip of his ankles against Pandora's flanks as he reached up and tied a bandana around his neck to protect it from the sun.

As they entered the town's main street, Ransom pulled on Pandora's reins to slow her down to a light trot. Pandora tossed her head slightly, tasting the air around her as the townspeople went about their business.

He finally pulled her to a stop as they neared the town's general store, and he hitched her outside. He had his guns and changes of clothes, but never had he needed a bedroll or pack to travel with. Inside, he found an older woman tending the counter, and she greeted him with a smile.

"G'morning, ma'am," he greeted, taking his hat off as he closed the door behind him. "I've found myself in need of some supplies."

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About half an hour later, he'd mustered up a collection of survival supplies that the shop had immediately on hand -- a bedroll, a week or two of nonperishables, a tent to name a few. He secured the supplies on Pandora's saddle as best as he could.

With his new supplies readied, he mounted Pandora once more and continued on through the town. Everything permitting, he'd arrive at their meeting place shortly.