The ropes cut her wrists as the Apache girl struggled in the dust with the circle of wolves growling in the distance. Just when it seemed that his strength was going to fail him, a lone cowboy rode out of the dying sun. His shadow fell on her with his rifle raised and his voice firm.

What followed, linked their destiny to his in a way neither of them could have imagined. The air was heavy with dust and fear. Coyotes howled from the hills. Their screams mingled with the sound of boots creaking against the dry earth. The Apache girl, Njina, fought against the ropes that stuck in her skin. Each movement only made the knots tighter.

His dark hair stuck to his face. His breathing was heavy and short. She had been kidnapped and dragged through the desert by men who wanted to break her spirit. Now she was sitting, bound at the mercy of fate, her eyes defiant, even as her body trembled. On the horizon the light changed.

A single rider was approaching, his tall silhouette on the saddle and the sun bleeding fire behind him. Dust swirled around his horse’s hooves as he slowed down, staring at the scene before him.

The men who had bound Nahina turned and their laughter turned to curses as they searched for their weapons. The cowboy’s voice broke the quiet tension, but with a tone of steel. Guys, you’ve picked the wrong girl. What followed happened in a matter of seconds. The roar of his rifle broke the silence and a cloud of dust exploded where one of the men had previously stood.

The others dispersed firing uncontrollably, but the horseman’s aim was accurate. Every shot was a promise. His horse reared hooves battering the air as he fired again, causing the rest to flee into the desert, leaving only the echo of his threats. When the dust settled, the cowboy dismounted with his boots sinking into the earth.

He approached Nahina with cautious but firm eyes. She looked at him torn between fear and disbelief. His hands quickly worked with the ropes, loosening every knot under his grip. When the last one fell, she gasped, clutching her wrists with a freedom hotter than the sun. For a moment, silence spread between them. Nahina looked into his eyes and saw no pity in them.

but respect, something I didn’t expect from a stranger, let alone a cowboy. He opened his lips and the words came out trembling, but clear. “My body is yours,” she whispered in a voice that conveyed more than surrender. It conveyed gratitude, despair, and a promise that would shape everything that would come after.

The cowboy froze, caught between his words and the weight of what they meant. And in that moment, under the vast desert sky, two lives collided in a way that neither of them could turn back. The words hung in the air like smoke after a gunshot. My body is yours.

The cowboy froze with the knife still in his hand, the severed ropes falling to the dust next to his boots. He had expected tears, perhaps anger, but not this, not the raw surrender that trembled in his voice. He clenched his jaw and for a long moment said nothing. His eyes, pale under the brim of his hat, sought hers.

He saw no shame there or broken spirit. Instead, there was fire, a kind of fierce gratitude, a desperate promise born not of weakness, but of survival, he cleared his throat in a harsh voice. I haven’t saved you for that. Nahina blinked with a confused expression on her face.

He opened his lips as if to speak, but the words choked in his throat. The cowboy stood up and put the knife in his belt. He held out a calloused hand to him. Come on, now you’re free, enough is enough. She hesitated, staring at his hand. For so long, every outstretched hand had signified chains, commands, or violence, but something in her eyes made her believe.

She slowly placed her trembling fingers on his, and he gently helped her to her feet. The desert stretched silently around him. Only the whisper of the wind through the dry grass and the distant cry of a hawk filled the space. Nahina staggered with weak legs from captivity and the cowboy grabbed her by the arm. Can you walk? he asked.

She nodded, though her knees threatened to give way, brushed her hair from her face and straightened her shoulders proudly. I can. He stared at her for a moment and then nodded. Well, my horse is nearby. We have to go. Those men will return as soon as they regain their courage. At the mention of her captors, Njina’s eyes hardened.

He spat on the ground and said in a high-pitched voice, “Let them come. I will not bow down again. The cowboy smiled slightly, impressed by his determination. That’s how they talk, but we’ll ride anyway. It makes no sense to tempt death twice in the same day. They came to his horse, a broad-breasted fence with a dark mane that quivered in the wind.

The animal snorted as they approached, kicking the ground as if the tension was. The cowboy stroked her neck, muttering softly before turning to Nagina. Do you know how to ride? She lifted her chin. It was born on the back of a horse. Then, get on, he said, offering her a stirrup.

She climbed into the chair with the ease of someone who is used to, despite her exhaustion, with her posture upright and pride intact. He followed her behind her, one hand holding the reins. The horse moved, and Nagina felt the warmth of his presence near her back. The desert opened before them as the cowboy spurred the horse.

The sun was setting on the horizon, dyeing the sky reddish and golden. They rode at full speed, leaving behind the broken ropes, the dust, and the memory of the men who had tried to bend her. When they slowed down, night had begun to fall. Stars dotted the darkened sky, and the moon cast a pale light on the earth.

The cowboy led the horse into a shallow canyon, where a trickle of water ran between the rocks. He dismounted first and then helped Nahina down. His feet touched the ground, but his body staggered with exhaustion. He held her again with his hand on her for a second before removing her.

“Sit down,” he said, pointing to a flat stone near the water. “Rest, I will light the fire.” She obeyed, sitting down carefully, her wrists raw and reddened by the marks of the ropes. He watched as he picked up dry branches and slammed the flint against the steel, fanning the flame. Soon, the fire crackled, casting light against the canyon walls.

Nahina reached out toward the warmth, wincing as she felt the tingling of the returning blood. The cowboy noticed and tossed her a piece of cloth torn from his backpack. “For your wrists,” he said. She slowly bandaged them, her eyes never leaving his. “Why?” He raised an eyebrow.

Why? What? Why did you save me? Don’t you know me? He shrugged and threw more wood on the fire. It wasn’t necessary. A man doesn’t walk past when he sees wolves prowling. Her lips curved slightly, but her voice remained firm. I’m not prey. He looked into her eyes through the fire, narrowing them slightly. No, you’re not. That’s why you’re still here.

For a while, silence fell between them, broken only by the crackling of the flames and the murmur of water through the stone. Najina drew her knees closer, her voice now softer. “When I spoke before, when I said my body was yours,” she began, feeling her cheeks flush.

I wasn’t talking about chains, I was talking about my life. Now it belongs to you. The cowboy’s face hardened, and he shook his head. Your life belongs to you. Don’t give it to anyone, not even me. She tilted her head, studying him as if weighing the truth of his words.

Finally, he nodded, a glimmer of something inexpressible in his eyes. Respect, trust, perhaps even something deeper. The fire burned slowly, and shadows curled around him. The desert stretched endlessly. The night was vast and unbroken. For the first time since her capture, Njina relaxed her shoulders and breathed deeply. And as the cowboy leaned back against the rocks, his hand resting lightly on his revolver, she allowed herself to believe she was safe, at least for now.

The fire burned slowly, casting flickering shapes on the canyon walls. Nai sat with her knees drawn up, the strip of cloth tightly wrapped around her wrists. The cowboy leaned against a rock, his hat tilted to one side, but his eyes sharp, scanning the dark edges of the camp. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Finally, Njina broke the silence. “You never told me your name.” The cowboy shifted and tossed a twig into the fire. “Names don’t matter much here.” “They do matter to me,” she replied firmly. “If I’m going to entrust my life to a man, I should know who he is.”

He watched her through the flames, the stubborn expression in her jaw, the flash of firelight in her eyes. Then he sighed. Call me Colt. Her lips curved slightly. Like the gun. He smiled faintly. Like the gun. Nahina nodded, letting the name roll softly on her tongue. Colt. The night was drawing in. Coyotes howled in the distance, their cries rising and falling like gasping laughter.

Colt checked his revolver and then rested it in his lap. “Do you need to sleep?” he said. “I can’t,” Nagina admitted. “When I close my eyes, I see their faces. I hear the strings being tightened.” Colt’s gaze softened, though his voice remained firm. “Then keep your eyes open.”

The night is long, but it has an end. She looked at him for a moment, then lay back on the stone, gazing at the stars. “You speak like a man who has lived through too many nights.” He didn’t reply. Instead, he stoked the fire, and sparks flew into the darkness. Nahina watched him curiously, stirring her weariness.

Who was this man who fought like a soldier? Spoke like a preacher and acted like someone who had seen too much? At dawn they mounted again. Nahina sat behind Colt on the bay horse, her hands firmly in the saddle. The desert stretched out before them, and the sun was already beating down on their backs. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“North,” he replied. “There’s a trading post two days’ ride away. It’s safer than this.” “Safe,” she repeated, almost dismissively. “Nowhere is safe. Not for me, not for any Apache.” Colt looked at her. “Maybe not, but safer is better than nothing.” She didn’t argue. Instead, she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the horizon, as if daring the desert to test her again.

At midday they stopped near a grove of mesquite trees. Colt gave the horse water while Naina went into the shade and knelt to gather dust between her fingers. Her voice was quiet, almost to herself. My people believe that the earth remembers, every footprint, every drop of blood, it never forgets. Colt took the reins and knelt beside her.

And what do you think he remembers about you? She looked up sharply and narrowed her eyes. I think he remembers that I didn’t break down. He stared at her, then nodded slowly. Good, don’t forget that either. His lips pressed into a thin line, but something about his face softened, just for a moment.

That night they camped near a dry streambed. Colt lit another, smaller fire, this time with flames strong enough to keep the cold at bay. Nahina sat nearby, watching his every move. “You fight like a soldier,” she said. He shrugged. “I fought once. I don’t anymore.” “Why not?” He stared into the flames.

Because wars don’t end when the killing stops, they end when the living can breathe again. I grew tired of fighting in wars that never ended. His voice was calm, and, “yet, you fought for me.” Then he looked at her with hard, but sincere eyes. That wasn’t a war, it was the right thing to do. Nahina felt a knot in her chest. For too long she had been treated as someone inferior, an enemy, a burden, a prize to be won.

But this man, this cowboy with scars around his eyes, spoke to her as if she were worth fighting for. She turned her face back to the fire, afraid he might read too much into her expression. The night deepened and the silence grew heavy. But silence in the desert was never real. The sound of hooves echoed faintly in the wind.

Colt tensed and tightened his grip on his revolver. Naina heard him too. Her body tensed, and her eyes darted toward the ridge. Shadows moved against the moonlight. Three riders, maybe four. Their figures were dark and determined. “They’re the same men,” she whispered. Colt clenched his jaw.

They’re no different, but trouble rides the same way. He smothered the fire with his boot, plunging them into darkness. The riders approached, their voices low but echoing through the still night. Colt gently pushed Nagina toward the rocks. “Keep down.” She raged. “I won’t hide.”

“Do you want to live?” His voice was now sharp, the command of a man who had stared at death too many times. She glared at him. Then she crouched slowly behind the rocks, her knife drawn, her pride battling her fear. Colt emerged into the open, his revolver gleaming in the moonlight. “Good night, boys.” The riders slowed, their horses whinniing. One of them leaned forward, grinning.

What’s a cowboy doing here without a gun and without company? Colt’s voice was calm, but with a stern tone. Company is the least of my problems. Yours is that you’ve come too close. The men laughed, but the sound was hollow. They saw how he stood tall, how his revolver didn’t tremble. Nahina watched from the shadows, her heart pounding.

She wanted to leap forward, to fight, to prove she was no longer prey. But Colt’s figure stood like a wall between her and the danger. The desert air grew cold, the silence stretched on, and in that breathless moment, Njina realized. The fight wasn’t over; it had only just begun.

The three riders slowly dispersed. Their horses pawed the ground. The creaking of leather echoed in the silence. Moonlight reflected off the barrel of a rifle slung over one of the men’s shoulders. Another lazily twirled a knife in his hand. The third, their leader, judging by the way the others were trailing behind, leaned forward in his saddle with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looks like you’re far from town, cowboy,” he said to Ron.

“Do you have anything worth taking?” Colt stood erect, his revolver at his side, his face hidden beneath the brim of his hat. “Nothing of interest to you.” The men laughed. The leader spat on the ground. “You have a good horse. It’s a shame to leave it with a man who isn’t willing to give it up.”

From behind the rocks, Njina gripped her knife tighter. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, the same fury that had kept her alive when she was tied up. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Colt’s voice broke the tension. “You don’t want this fight.” “Maybe you do,” the leader mocked. The confrontation ended in an instant.

The man with the knife spurred his horse and charged straight at Colt. The cowboy raised his revolver and fired in one fluid motion, the blast echoing off the canyon walls. The rider fell sideways and hit the ground hard. His horse bolted into the darkness. The second man lowered his rifle and fired wildly.

The bullets ricocheted off the rocks where Nahina was crouching. She gasped, and stones splintered inches from her face. Rage surged through her, stronger than fear. Before Colt could return fire, Nahina rose from the shadows.

He swung his knife with all his might, the blade whirling in the night. It struck the rifleman’s arm, making him drop his weapon. The man screamed, clutching his wound as his horse reared. Colt didn’t waste his chance. His revolver fired again, bringing the man down. Dust rose, and the screams faded into silence. The leader cursed and swerved his horse sharply.

He drew his own pistol and pointed it at Colt, but his hands trembled. “You’ll pay for this,” he shouted, his voice cracking with rage. Colt stepped forward, his revolver held steady. “You have one chance. Go and don’t look back.” The man’s eyes fell on Najina, who had retrieved her knife and now stood tall in the moonlight, her chest heaving, but her grip firm. Her mere presence was enough to unnerve him.

She was no longer a frightened girl. With a growl, she spurred her horse hard and rode off into the night. Her curses echoed, but her figure soon vanished into the desert. The silence grew thick, broken only by the horse’s ragged breathing and the crackle of gun barrels cooling.

Colt slowly lowered his revolver, scanning the shadows to make sure no danger remained. Najina stepped forward, her knife still dusty. Her hands trembled, but her eyes were fierce. “I am not prey,” she said almost to herself, as if sealing the truth in the night. Colt watched her for a long moment, then nodded.

No, you’re not. You stood your ground. She gasped. Praise was rare in her life, and even rarer coming from someone like him. She wiped the blade with her skirt and straightened up. I won’t hide from them or anyone else anymore. Colt holstered his revolver in a low but firm voice.

“Good, but remember, fighting isn’t a matter of pride, it’s a matter of survival. Never confuse the two.” She raged, but deep down she knew he was right. Her pride had driven her to come forward, but her willpower had helped her through. They dragged the wounded bodies away from the camp, leaving them to the mercy of the desert.

Nahina knelt by the stream and washed the blood from her sword. Her reflection stared back at her in the water. Sharper eyes, a stronger jaw, the shadow of fear fading with each breath. Colt crouched nearby, reloading his revolver. “You throw the knife like someone who’s done it before,” my father remarked.

“He taught me,” she said, without looking up, “before they killed him.” Colt paused, letting the weight of her words settle between them. “So he’d be proud tonight.” A lump formed in his throat, but he forced himself to nod. Perhaps at dawn they’d set off again.

The desert stretched endlessly, but Nagina rode differently now, shoulders straight, eyes sharp, knife strapped to her waist. She was no longer just a girl freed from her bonds; she was a fighter by his side. As the sun climbed higher, Colt glanced over his shoulder at her.

You said your life was mine, but last night you proved it’s yours. She gave a faint smile. Maybe both could be true. He smiled mockingly. Maybe they rode in silence for a while, but they both knew the night had changed something. Nahina had shown she could face the fire, not just be rescued from it. Colt had seen her strength, and she had seen that he respected her.

But as they drew closer to the trading post, shadows still clung to the horizon. The danger hadn’t vanished; it was merely waiting for its next opportunity. And they both knew the desert remembered everything. The trading post stood low against the horizon, little more than a cluster of wooden buildings framed by dust and sun.

A faded sign swung lazily over the entrance, its paint peeling. Wagons crowded near the corral. Horses pawed the ground as husky voices rose and fell from the saloon. Colt reined in his horse, cautiously scanning the scene. Nahina moved behind him, her posture stiff.

He felt the weight of the stares that hadn’t yet turned toward them, but soon would. “This place,” he murmured. “They won’t welcome me.” Colt clenched his jaw. “They will welcome me, that’s enough.” He dismounted and extended his hand.

She ignored her and slid to the ground on her own two feet, lifting her chin in defiance. Dust swirled around her ankles, and she could already feel it. The tingling of unseen judgment. They walked together toward the stall. The conversation died away as heads turned. Miners, traders, and vagrants stared at the girl with braids as dark as midnight and skin tanned by the desert sun.

Some spat, others murmured. A man near the saloon steps sneered. “What’s a cowboy like you doing bringing an Apache woman to town?” Colt glared at him, his eyes as hard as steel. “She walks where I walk.” The man scoffed, but didn’t press the issue.

Even so, the whispers spread like wildfire, searing Najina’s pride. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, refusing to back down, though her hand brushed against the knife at her waist. Inside the trading stall, the air was thick with dust and stale smoke. The shelves sag under the weight of sacks of grain, cans of coffee, and rolls of cloth.

The officer in charge, a wiry man with glasses perched on his nose, froze when he saw Nahina. He pressed his lips together, but managed a forced smile at Colt. “Supplies,” he asked, completely ignoring her. “Food, ammunition, medicine, if you have any,” Colt replied.

The man gathered the items with swift hands, his eyes never leaving Colt. “Finally,” he murmured, “Are you carrying any trouble?” Colt slammed his hand down on the counter. “I’ve got money.” He tossed a few silver coins onto the wood. The clerk swallowed his words, stuffed the money into a tin, and said nothing more.

Nahina remained silent throughout the entire process, but inside, a storm was brewing. Every glance, every rejection, felt like a stab wound. She suppressed the urge to speak, knowing her voice would only intensify their stares. Outside, Colt tied the supplies to the horse. Nahina’s voice finally broke, low and strained. “They look at me like I’m trash under their boots.”

Why did you bring me here? Colt straightened up and looked her in the eyes. Because survival doesn’t care about pride. We need food, water, bullets. You can hate stares, but you can’t eat rebellion. Her eyes flashed. And do their stares hurt you? Her expression darkened. For a long moment she didn’t answer.

Then she said quietly, “I’ve been looked at like that before for worse things than the color of my skin.” She blinked in surprise. What things? Colt looked away and tightened the straps. Things I don’t talk about. They stayed in the back room of the lounge, four walls that smelled of whiskey and dust. Njina sat on the cot, running her fingers over the rope scars on her wrists.

Colt was cleaning his revolver on the small table, the lamplight casting deep shadows on his face. Finally, she asked, “Why are you hiding from your past?” He stopped and wiped the barrel with a cloth. “Because some pasts don’t deserve to see the light of day. All they do is blind you to what lies ahead.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe you’re afraid of what I would see.”

Colt raised his piercing gaze. For a moment, the air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken truths. Then he laid down the revolver and lay back. I fought in a war that had no winners. I did things I believed were right, but right isn’t clean. I still carry that with me every night.

Nahina gasped. She saw the weariness etched deep in his eyes, lines carved by battles fought and mourned. She spoke softly. “You saved me. That wasn’t regret.” He clenched his jaw, but said nothing. The night dragged on. Outside, drunken voices rose in the living room.

Boots clattered on the wooden floors. Njina lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling, far from sleep. Colt sat at the table, his hat tilted to one side, an untouched bottle tucked between his elbows. Suddenly, glass shattered in the street. A laugh followed, then angry shouts. Nina jumped up. “What’s going on?” Colt rose slowly, revolver already in his hand. “Trouble.”

They went out onto the balcony overlooking the street. A band of riders had arrived with their horses tied up outside, and their leader swaggered into the living room with a pistol slung at his side. Colt clenched his jaw. They’re not the same men as before, but they’re his kind. Naina gripped her knife. They’re after blood. He looked at her with a slight smile on his lips.

Then they’ll discover we’re not easy prey. Back inside, Colt turned off the lamp. Rest while you can. We’ll leave tomorrow before they wake up. But Njina shook her head, her eyes blazing. I won’t run. Not again. If they come for me, I’ll stand my ground. Colt watched her, then nodded. Then you’ll stay with me.

The words remained between them like a pact. Outside, the laughter and insults grew louder, spreading through the night. The trading post, which was supposed to be a safe haven, had become yet another ordeal. And they both knew that when the sun rose, the desert would demand another fight.

The saloon doors swung open, spilling lamplight and drunken laughter into the street. The gang leader, a burly man with a scar running from his cheek to his collarbone, staggered out, pistol in hand.

His men followed, half-drunk but still dangerous, their eyes scanning the street with malicious curiosity. Colt watched from the balcony, his revolver hanging at his side. Beside him, Najina stood rigid, her hand on the handle of her knife. The scarred man saw them and smiled, raising his pistol indolently. “Well, look what we have here,” he said in a slurred voice. A cowboy and his prize.

I didn’t know they let savages rent rooms in the city. His men let out a low, ugly laugh. Naina clenched her jaw, but she didn’t flinch. She met his gaze with steely eyes. Colt’s voice remained firm. You’ve had enough fun. It’s time to go back inside. The man’s smile widened. Don’t mess me up, cowboy.

“You think wearing that hat makes you the law?” Anagina pointed her gun. “What does it make her? A bed warmer, a pet.” The gang erupted in laughter. Nahina clenched her knuckles tightly on her knife. Colt raised his revolver and spoke in a low, lethal voice. “Put that gun down.” For a moment, there was silence.

Then the man with the scar laughed again and raised the pistol even higher. “Or what, you’ll shoot me for a wild girl?” The crack of a gunshot ripped through the night. The man’s pistol flew from his hand and fell loudly to the ground. Colt’s revolver was smoking, his aim never wavering.

The spectators, watching through the windows, let out muffled screams. The band froze. Their laughter died away. Colt’s voice was sharp. I’ve been merciful. The next shot won’t miss. The man with the scar rubbed his bloodied hand, his eyes burning with fury. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled. “No one makes a fool of me.”

Before Colt could reply, Nahina stepped forward. Her voice was clear and fierce. “You’re already a fool.” The men blinked in surprise. The crowd that had begun to gather leaned forward, murmuring. Nahina descended the steps, her knife gleaming in the lamplight.

He stopped a few feet from the scarred man, his gaze unwavering. “You point your gun at me thinking I’m weak,” he said, his tone calm but sharp. “But they tied me up with ropes and I didn’t break. They chased me and I didn’t give in. Do you think you’re going to scare me now?” His words cut sharper than steel. The scarred man hesitated, surprised by his challenge.

Her men murmured, shifting uneasily. Nahina lifted her chin. “You call me savage. Then listen to me. A savage fight with fire in my blood, and tonight that fire will burn for you.” With a cry, the scarred man lunged at her, his good hand trying to grab her by the neck.

The crowd gasped, but Njina moved like lightning. He leaped aside and swung his knife upward. The steel grazed flesh, leaving a shallow cut on his cheek. Blood spurted crimson in the moonlight. The man staggered backward, clutching his face, his eyes wide with shock.

His men drew their weapons, but Colt fired a warning shot into the ground at his feet. “Try it and you’ll end up like him.” Nahina stood tall, knife raised, her chest heaving, but her expression unflappable. The crowd erupted, not in fear, but in cheers.

Miners, merchants, and townspeople who had once regarded her with suspicion now shouted in admiration. “She stood her ground!” someone yelled. “Cut him up like a pig!” another laughed. The scarred man’s face twisted with rage and humiliation. He turned to his men, but they hesitated, their eyes fixed between Colt’s revolver and Nahina’s gleaming knife. The balance of power had shifted. Their leader now seemed smaller, weaker.

Finally, he spat on the ground. “This isn’t over.” “No,” Colt said coldly. “It’s over. Take your men out before the desert claims you.” The scarred man cursed, but he knew the fight was lost. He staggered to his horse, his men following close behind. In seconds, the band was gone, and the sound of their hooves faded into the night.

Silence fell, broken only by the murmur of the crowd. All eyes turned to Nagina. The girl who had entered the trading post under suspicious glances was now in the street, her knife dripping blood and her pride gleaming like steel. Colt holstered his revolver and said loudly, “You all saw it. She doesn’t need saving.”

She saved herself. A murmur of agreement rose, growing into cheers. For the first time, Njina didn’t feel the weight of contempt upon her. Instead, she felt respect. She lowered the knife, breathing heavily. Her eyes met Colt’s. He nodded slightly, a flicker of pride hidden beneath his calm demeanor.

That night, when they returned to their small room, Njina sat on the cot with the knife on her knees. Her voice was calm, but confident. “I told you I wouldn’t hide again.” Colt leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “And you haven’t.” She paused, her voice softening.

It’s been more than I expected. Naguina offered a faint smile. Well, expect more. The desert hasn’t seen the last of me yet. Outside, the wind carried away the echoes of the fight, but inside, a bond had been forged in fire and challenge, one that would only grow stronger as the desert tested them again.

The trading post had fallen silent after the fight. The steps of the hall were covered in broken glass, and the echoes of Njina’s challenge still hung in the air like smoke. Inside her room, the lamp burned dimly. Colt sat by the table silently cleaning his revolver, while Nina sharpened her knife with slow, deliberate movements.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Finally, Colt broke the silence. “You’ve changed tonight.” Naina looked up, her gaze unwavering. “I only did what I had to do.” He shook his head. “You didn’t stand up to a man who wanted to possess you, and not only did you fight him, but you showed everyone that you didn’t belong to them. They’ll remember that longer than any wound you inflicted on them.”

She studied him, her jaw clenched. Then let them remember. Their memory is their burden, not mine. Colt leaned back, his expression unreadable. Perhaps, but it leaves its mark. Men like him don’t forget humiliation. They’ll be back. Nahina returned to her sword, the steel whispering beneath its hilt. Let them.

Each one who comes will learn the same lesson. At dawn, the market stall buzzed with activity. Merchants loaded carts, children ran barefoot through the dust, and the villagers cast glances, now less hostile, more curious. Some even nodded respectfully as Njina passed by, but not all the looks were friendly. From the corner of the corral, a man in a dark coat watched.

The brim of his hat obscured his face, but his gaze never left the pair. He leaned against a railing, drumming his fingers on the butt of a rifle. He wasn’t part of the scarred man’s gang. He was something else entirely—patient, calculating. When Colt noticed him, their eyes met.

The man’s smile was thin, cold. He touched his hat once, then turned and disappeared into the crowd. Colt felt a knot in his stomach. He’d seen that look before, the look of someone who wasn’t finished yet. Further north, the land stretched wide and unforgiving.

Nahina rode beside Colt this time, her posture upright and her face calm. But beneath her composure, her thoughts were racing. “You keep looking back,” she said finally. Colt didn’t answer at first. His eyes scanned the horizon. Then he murmured, “Because someone’s following us.” She reached for her knife. The man with the scar. “No,” Colt said.

Worse than those who don’t shout their threats, they just wait for you to fall asleep. Nahina’s gaze sharpened. Then we won’t sleep. He gave a humorless smile. Not even I can stay awake that long. She didn’t smile. Then I’ll keep watch. Colt looked at her. He really looked at her and saw the fire that had driven her to cross ropes, shame, and blood.

She wasn’t a burden; she was a storm walking beside him, and storms don’t wait for permission. That night they camped near a cluster of rocks shaped like broken teeth. The fire burned slowly, and the smoke spiraled up into the desert sky. Colt dozed with his revolver in his lap. Nahina lay awake, her knife balanced on her knees.

Her thoughts wandered, against her will, to the words he’d spoken when he first freed her. “My body is yours.” He’d meant survival, but now, with every mile they’d traveled, the meaning had shifted. It wasn’t just gratitude anymore; it was a choice. Her gaze softened as it settled on Colt.

His face, marked by years of battles she knew nothing about, seemed almost at peace in the firelight. She wondered what ghosts haunted him when he closed his eyes, what wars he silently carried. A sound caught her attention. The crunch of gravel beyond the rocks rose silently, the knife poised.

The dark silhouette of a man moved beyond the firelight, watching. “Colt,” she whispered. He awoke instantly, revolver drawn, eyes sharp. “Where?” She pointed. The shadow melted back into the night. Colt muttered under his breath. “She’s testing us, watching us sleep.” Najina’s heart pounded, but she lifted her chin. “Then we’ll show her we don’t sleep.”

The next day, the tension was palpable. Every rustle in the undergrowth, every distant sound of hooves, set their nerves on edge. At midday, they rested beside a dry riverbed. Colt crouched down, scanning the ridge. “It’s clever,” Colt murmured. “It keeps its distance. It waits for us to tire.”

Nahina knelt beside him. “Then we won’t get tired.” He turned and looked into her eyes. “You speak as if you’ve been hunted before.” She held his gaze without blinking. “That’s right.” Something shifted between them in that moment. An unspoken truth, a recognition. Colt saw not just a girl who had survived, but someone who had learned to live with danger clinging to her skin. He touched the brim of his hat.

Then perhaps he had found the right mate, Maa. She offered a faint smile. Perhaps they didn’t light a fire that night. They sat in the darkness with their backs against the stone and their gaze fixed on the horizon. The desert was a sea of ​​silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind.

Colt shifted and spoke softly. “Nahina, what you said when I cut those strings, ‘My body is yours.’ Do you still feel that?” She turned her head toward him, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “I meant my life, and my life continues to walk beside you.” He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her words sink deep within him.

For the first time in years, he felt something shifting inside him, a bond he hadn’t wanted that now held him tighter than iron. And in the darkness beyond the rocks, invisible eyes continued to watch, patient and hungry. The desert night was quiet, too quiet.

Colt felt it in his bones as he crouched behind a ridge, his heavy revolver in hand. Nahina knelt beside him, a knife gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Their horses shifted nervously, their ears twitching at sounds too faint for human ears. “It’s close,” Colt whispered.

Nahina narrowed her eyes and scanned the rocks. “Wait until we stumble.” A crunch of gravel answered her words. From the shadows emerged the man in the dark coat. He wasn’t alone. Three others crawled beside him, rifles gleaming in the stars. The leader’s smile was cold and calculated. “It’s been difficult to follow you,” he boomed, “but not difficult enough.”

Colt stood slowly, his revolver at a steady hand. “If you want something, say so clearly.” The man tilted his head. Word had spread about the girl at the trading post. People said she was worth more than silver, worth a man’s pride. A cowboy can’t keep that to himself. Nahina clenched her jaw and brandished her knife as she stepped forward. “I’m not merchandise.”

The men laughed with a harsh, ugly laugh. The leader’s smile widened. That’s where you’re wrong. The standoff erupted in an instant. One of the rifles fired, spattering sparks as a bullet ricocheted off a rock inches from Colt’s head. He returned fire. His revolver crackled twice, and a man fell screaming.

Nina lunged forward. Her knife flashed silver. She slammed into another attacker, plunging the blade into his arm. He screamed and dropped his weapon. She freed herself with a swift, savage movement. Colt rolled behind a rock and fired again. Another outlaw staggered backward, clutching his chest.

The air filled with dust and smoke, and the acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the desert wind. The leader charged, pistol raised high, his jacket billowing behind him. Colt ducked, and the bullet grazed his shoulder. The pain was intense, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. Nahina didn’t hesitate. She lunged at the leader, slashing his coat with her knife and forcing him back.

He growled, pointing his pistol at him. “Throw it!” Colt yelled, aiming his revolver directly at the man’s chest. The leader froze, sweat glistening on his forehead. His eyes darted between Colt’s unwavering gaze and Najina’s blade pressed against his throat. “You think you’ve won?” he spat.

“There are more like me. Now she’s marked. Men will come, and they’ll keep coming.” Naina gripped the knife tighter, her voice as sharp as steel. “Let them come! I won’t give up now. Not ever.” The man’s smile vanished, and the confidence drained from his eyes. Colt stepped closer, revolver at the ready. “If you follow us again, you won’t get out alive.”

The leader pursed his lips, but his voice cracked. “This isn’t the end.” Colt tightened his grip on the trigger. For a moment, the desert held its breath. But Nai spoke first, and he didn’t say firmly, “It’s the end. Leave your pride here, or the desert will bury you with it.” Something in his tone broke him. He slowly lowered the pistol and dropped it to the ground.

With a grunt, he turned and staggered into the night, clutching the cut on his throat. The two survivors fled with him, their footsteps fading into silence. When the dust settled, Colt holstered his revolver with a grimace of pain, pressing a hand against his shoulder. Blood seeped through his shirt.

Nahina rushed to his side, tearing a piece of cloth from his skirt to bandage the wound. “Stay still,” she ordered, her hands surprisingly steady. He gritted his teeth, trying to push her away. “It’s nothing.” Her eyes flashed. “Don’t be silly. Even strong men bleed.” He looked into her eyes, surprised by the authority in her voice. Slowly, he allowed her to tie the cloth tightly around his wound.

The pain lessened, but the warmth of her hands remained. “You saved my life,” he murmured. Nahina offered a faint smile. Perhaps, or perhaps we saved each other. They sat together after the skirmish, the fire long since extinguished. The stars shone brightly overhead, and the desert air was sharp and cold.

Colt leaned back against a rock, tired but undeterred. Nahina sat nearby, her knife still within reach, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “You’ve got fire inside,” Colt said softly. “There aren’t many who can stand up to men like that.” Nahina’s voice was gentle, yet fierce.

All my life I’ve been told to bend, to kneel, to be less. Tonight I stood firm, and I’m not backing down. He watched her in the moonlight, seeing the steel in her eyes, the pride on her shoulders. She wasn’t just surviving; she was becoming something more, someone who couldn’t be chained.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The desert stretched out around them, vast and endless, but for the first time it didn’t seem empty. It seemed like a place where something new had been born. When dawn broke, they silently saddled their horses. The air carried the smell of gunpowder, the memory of blood. But it also carried something else: determination.

As they rode north, Nahina looked at Colt. “You fight for me,” she said. He shook his head. “No, I fight with you.” His chest sank, and he looked away toward the horizon. The words pierced her, stronger than any promise. The desert wasn’t finished with them yet, but they weren’t finished with the desert either.

The sun rose hard and white over the desert, bathing the land in a blinding light. Colt shifted in his chair, his hand pressed against his injured shoulder. The cloth Nagina had tied around his neck was already stained, and every movement sent a new wave of pain through his chest.

“Stay still,” Nagina said sharply, riding beside him. Her horse kept pace with his as she scanned the horizon. “I’m fine,” Colt murmured, though his face was pale and sweat beaded on his forehead. She turned to him, her voice fierce. “Don’t lie. Even strong men fall when they bleed for too long.” For once, he didn’t argue.

His silence was answer enough. At noon, Colt wobbled in the chair, his strength waning. Nahina led them to the shadow of a rocky cliff where a thin stream trickled among the stones. She quickly dismounted and ran to his side. “Down,” she ordered. He tried to protest, but his legs gave way as he slid out of the chair.

She took hold of his good arm and gently lowered him to the ground. His breathing was shallow, through gritted teeth. The bullet didn’t penetrate deeply, he said hoarsely. It only tore a little. Njina ripped fresh strips from her skirt and pressed them firmly against the wound. The blood spurted warm against her hands. She forced herself not to back away. “You saved me,” she whispered as she worked.

“Now I’ll save you.” Colt opened his eyes and looked at her. There was no humor in them now, only weary confidence. Don’t let your guard down, she’ll be back. Men like him circle like vultures. Nahina clenched her jaw. Let them circle. I’ll strike first.

She worked quickly, tightly bandaging his shoulder, then helped him lie back against the rocks. His revolver lay beside him, but his hand was too weak to pick it up. For the first time since she’d known him, Colt wasn’t the wall of strength between her and danger. He was mortal. Najina stood up, knife in hand, her gaze sharp.

He explored the area, moving among the rocks with the silent steps of a hunter. He studied every shadow, measured every sound. He felt the weight of the controller pressing on his shoulders and, for once, he didn’t flinch. High on the cliff, he scanned the horizon.

In the distance, faint trails of dust swirled in the air. Riders. They weren’t close yet, but they were getting closer. She ducked back to Colt. They’re coming. He clenched his jaw. How many? Four, maybe five. He swore under his breath, you can’t face them alone. His eyes burned. I’m not going to run. You can’t fight, so I will.

The riders drew closer as the sun set, casting long shadows across the sand. Nahina led the horses into a narrow clearing and tied them up out of sight. She smeared powder on her face to camouflage herself among the rocks, her knife gripped tightly in her hand. Colt tried to stand, but the effort sent him sprawling back to the ground, panting.

“Don’t be reckless,” he murmured. “Use the terrain. Make him fight you.” Naguina gave a faint smile. “You sound like my father.” Then he vanished, slipping between the rocks, the desert swallowing his footsteps. The first rider appeared on the ridge, scanning the cliff. His voice boomed. “The tracks end here.”

They’re close. Another dismounted and bent down to examine the ground. The horse dung is fresh. They’re hiding. A third laughed. Then we’ll smoke them. He raised a torch, striking the flint against the steel. Before the flame caught, Njina moved. He leaped from the rocks, his knife gleaming.

The man fell with a cry, his torch scattering sparks across the sand. The others shouted, raising their weapons, but she was gone, melting into the rock. Gunshots rang out, bullets sparking against the cliff. Naina turned, silent as a shadow, and leaped again, severing a horse’s reins and causing the animal to rear and throw its rider.

The man and the animal fell to the ground, and chaos erupted. From below, Colt fired with one hand, his aim less accurate, but still precise. A bullet struck another rider in the leg, and he fell to the ground. Njina approached and, with a swift sword stroke, took him out of the fight. The last man stood frozen, his rifle trembling, watching his companions fall before a girl with fire in her eyes. “She’s not human,” he muttered, stepping back. “She’s a demon.”

Nina emerged from the shadows, her knife dripping, her chest heaving, but her gaze cold. “I’m not an Apache, remember that.” The man dropped his rifle and stumbled away into the desert. His curses faded into the silence. When it was all over, Nagina returned to Colt, her hands and sword stained with dust and blood.

She crouched before him, panting. He looked at her with pride, tinged with pain. “You led the fight.” She wiped her sword, her voice low but firm. “I kept you alive.” He exhaled, resting his head against the stone. “You are stronger than 50 men I have known.” His lips curved slightly. “And yet you call me a girl.”

For the first time in days, he laughed, even though it hurt. Perhaps he should stop. That night, while Colt slept fitfully, Naina stood guard. The stars spun above them, cold and bright. She sat with the knife on her knees, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

He thought of the girl who had once whispered to him, “My body is yours,” with desperation. That girl was gone. What remained was someone who had reclaimed her own fire, her own strength, her own place beside the cowboy who had saved her. And now, for the first time, she was the one keeping him alive. The desert night stretched endlessly, the cool air against her skin, the heavy silence after the battle.

Colt leaned against the rock, his breath ragged, the bandage around his shoulder soaked and dark. Naina sat nearby with her knife on her knees, watching the horizon with the patience of a hunter. For hours, neither of them spoke. The crackling of the small fire was the only sound between them. Finally, Colt broke the silence.

“You should have left me,” he muttered hoarsely. Naina turned sharply. “Don’t say that.” He kept his gaze fixed on the flames. “I’m holding you up. You’d be safer on your own.” She clenched her jaw. “I’ve told you, I don’t give up, and I don’t quit.” Colt’s lips curved slightly, but the smile held no humor. “You think I deserve to be saved? Then you should know what I’ve done.”

He flinched, wincing, then took a deep breath. Before you, before the desert, I was a soldier. I rode under a flag that promised justice. I thought we were fighting for peace, but all we left behind was ashes. Naina squinted and listened. Colt’s voice grew lower, raspier. I followed orders. I burned villages.

I saw women and children scatter like dust as we called it victory. And when the smoke cleared, I looked at my hands and realized I wasn’t a soldier, I was a butcher. The confession weighed like a tombstone, sharper than any sword. Nahina gasped and tightened her grip on her knife. “You killed my people,” she whispered.

Colt’s eyes finally met hers. There was no denial, no excuses, only deep regret. “I don’t know if it was your village, but I know it could have been, and that’s a burden I carry with me every night.” Silence enveloped them. The fire crackled, sparks flying in the darkness. Nagina’s chest heaved.

His rage and his grief clashed like storm clouds. “You saved me,” he said, his voice trembling. “But how many didn’t you save?” “How many fathers? How many daughters?” Colt lowered his gaze. “Too many.” His knife trembled in his hand, the blade reflecting the firelight.

Part of her screamed for him to attack, to finish him off as revenge for all those nameless dead. Her father, her people, how many cowboys had ridden like him, believing they brought justice and leaving only graves, and yet, she remembered his hand cutting her bonds, his body protecting hers, his firm voice as he faced the men who wanted to break her again.

She remembered how he bled in the dust as she fought to keep him alive. He wasn’t the man he’d been, but she could trust the man he was now. Colt’s voice was barely a whisper. “If you want to leave me here, I won’t stop you. Maybe I even deserve it.” Naina stared at him, her chest tight and her mind in turmoil.

She stood up slowly and approached, the knife still in her hand. Colt didn’t move; he closed his eyes as if ready for his trial. The blade hovered just inches from his chest. The silence stretched on. Then Najina dropped the knife to the ground beside him.

“You’re a man of blood,” she said fiercely, “but you’re also a man of truth. And truth weighs more than blood.” Colt’s eyes widened in astonishment. “I should hate you,” she continued, her voice now firm. “Perhaps a part of me does, but hatred builds nothing. If I walk alone, I carry only anger with me.”

“If I walk with you, maybe I’ll carry something more.” Her words hurt him more than any wound. For the first time in years, Colt felt something shift, a crack in the armor he had built with guilt and silence. The fire was slowly burning. Naina sat down again across from him, her gaze unwavering. “Tell me one thing,” she said. “Why me? Why fight for me when you could have moved on?” Colt’s voice was rough, but resolute.

Because when I saw you bound, I saw all the souls I hadn’t saved, and I swore I wouldn’t fail again. A lump formed in her throat, but she kept her gaze fixed on him. Then you won’t fail me. Not while I breathe. For the first time, her promise wasn’t born of despair. It was a choice, her choice.

The night deepened, but neither of them slept. Colt leaned back against the rock, his pain lessened by the weight of his words. Nahina sat with the knife on her knees, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her heart at peace.

As dawn broke, the desert stretched out before them once more, endless, unforgiving, yet brimming with possibilities. Colt carried his past like a chain. Nahina carried hers like fire, and somehow, together, both burdens seemed lighter. The sun was high and merciless, beating down on the sand that shimmered like molten glass. Colt and Nahina rode slowly, he hunched in the saddle, she her gaze fixed on every ridge.

The desert stretched out in silence, but that silence held a weight she had learned to distrust. Late in the afternoon, they reached a dry riverbed where twisted mesquite trees clung to the sky. Colt slid weakly from his horse, his wound burning, and slumped against a rock. Nahina knelt beside him and checked his bandage. “You’re bleeding less today,” she said softly. Colt gave a faint smile.

This is the best news I’ve had in weeks. Her lips almost formed a smile, but the sound of horses’ hooves interrupted the moment. Low, steady, determined. Nahina gripped the knife instantly. Colt tensed and forced himself to stand. From the upper ridge appeared half a dozen riders, their silhouettes sharply outlined against the sun.

At the head of the group was a gray-haired man with a scar running across his jaw. His voice sounded like gravel. “Well, well. What a surprise, Colt Madox!” Nahina looked at Colt. He clenched his jaw and didn’t answer. The man laughed coldly. “I thought you’d died years ago.”

The last time I saw you, you were burning villages down on the colonel’s orders. Anahina’s chest tightened. The truth she’d only heard Colt whisper now stood before her. Vivid and undeniable. Cold straightened slowly, pain evident in his movements. Those days are over, Rurk. Rurk’s smile widened. Not for me. I lost a brother in those ashes you left behind.

I lost more than that. Do you think you can walk free while ghosts still ride? The riders fanned out, rifles gleaming in the sun. Najina stepped forward, knife raised, voice fierce. If you want it, you’ll have to go through me. The men laughed, but Rork only narrowed his eyes.

Look at that. One of the people you burned is standing right in front of you. Doesn’t it disgust you, Madox? You deserve a rope, not their loyalty. Naina clenched her fist tightly, her heart pounding. She turned to Colt, her voice hoarse. “It’s true, you burned them.” He stared at her, his eyes tired and unblinking. “Yes, I did, and I’ll carry that with me until I die.”

The riders murmured, thirsting for blood. Rurk aimed his rifle. So, today is the day. Nahina felt the storm brewing inside her—the death of her father, the suffering of her people. How many men like Colt had caused it, and yet not this broken, bleeding man had stood between her and the ropes, between her and the wolves, between her and all the men who tried to possess her.

She had chosen another path when it mattered most. Her voice cracked, but she sounded resolute. He was her butcher, but he’s my shield, and I won’t let them take him. The riders’ laughter died away. Rurk’s smile twisted. You’re defending him. An Apache girl defending the man who burned your family.

“Yes,” Nagina snapped, “because he’s not that man anymore. He’s the man who bled for me, the one who trusted me when no one else did. His past is blood, but his present is mine.” The desert held its breath. Col’s eyes dilated, not with pride, but with something more intense. A mixture of shame and gratitude. Rurk’s face hardened. “Then you will die with him.”

The rifles were raised. Njina’s knife flashed, but she knew steel alone couldn’t stop bullets. Still, she stood firm, shielding Colt with her body. But before the first shot rang out, Colt staggered forward, gently pushing her behind him.

His revolver hung heavily in his good hand, trembling, but steady enough. “No,” Colt said hoarsely. “If blood must be spilled, let it be only mine. Let her go free.” Naina gasped and felt fury surge through her. “Don’t take my choice.” Rurk sneered. “Look at them. Two ghosts clinging to each other. You want justice, Madox? Justice is fire.” He raised his rifle.

Injina moved. She threw her knife, its blade whizzing through the air. It struck the rifle, deflecting it, and the shot fell harmlessly to the ground. Colt fired at the same time, his bullet grazing Rurk’s hat, making it spin. Chaos erupted. Horses reared, and dust clouded the creek. Nahina lunged for her knife, and Colt fired again despite the pain in his shoulder. Two riders fell.

The rest scattered, shouting curses. Rork snarled and spurred his horse. “This isn’t over, Madox,” he roared, retreating into the desert with the survivors. Silence returned, broken only by Colt and Nina’s ragged breathing. She rushed to his side and caught him as he collapsed. “Tonto,” he hissed, pressing on his wound.

You can’t fight alone. His lips curved slightly, blood at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t alone anymore. She stared at him, her chest tight and her heart pounding. Then remember this. If you fall, I fall. Now we walk together. Colt Madox, with or without a past.

He looked at her with eyes heavy with pain, but burning with something else: trust. For the first time, she wasn’t carrying the weight alone. The sun sank and the shadows lengthened. They sat together in the riverbed, battered, but undeterred. The desert hadn’t finished with them, but they hadn’t finished with the desert either.

The desert twilight melted into night, and the crimson stripes faded into black. Colt and Aina rode slowly, each step of the weary horse slowing. The riverbed behind them still echoed with gunfire, but the silence ahead seemed no safer. Colt’s wound burned. Every breath was a gasp.

Nagina’s hand remained near the reins, ready to steady them, and it wavered. She said nothing, but her eyes scanned the horizon. Every ridge was a threat, every shadow an ambush waiting. Finally, Colt broke the silence. “Rurk won’t give up.” Nagina’s jaw tightened. “Then neither will we.”

He looked at her with a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips despite the pain. “You sound more like a soldier than I ever did.” She shook her head. “Not a soldier, a survivor, and now a hunter.” At dawn they found refuge in an abandoned station, a dilapidated shack missing half its roof and whose walls had been eaten away by the wind.

Nina led Colt inside and laid him on a cot that dipped beneath his weight. “Rest,” she ordered sternly, but with gentle hands, as she adjusted his bandages. Colt winced, but didn’t take his eyes off her. “You’ve taken charge, because you can’t,” she replied firmly. “Until you can stand without bleeding, I’m in charge.”

He let out a dry laugh and coughed in pain. I guess I chose the right partner. For a moment, their eyes met. Nahina looked away first, focusing on the bandage, though she felt a pain in her chest she couldn’t quite explain. Outside, the wind carried low voices, distant, but growing ever closer. Nahina tensed and slipped toward the door.

Through the cracks in the wall she saw them, riders gathering on the ridge more than before, at least a dozen. R was with them, his face grim beneath the brim of his hat, the scar on his jaw gleaming. He pointed toward the cabin, his voice carrying even through the wind. “Burn them. Tonight the desert will claim Mdogs’ bones.” Nahina felt a knot in her stomach.

She turned to Colt, who was struggling to sit upright. “They’re here,” she whispered. He breathed heavily, his face pale. “Then the time has come.” His hand trembled on the knife. “You can’t fight.” “No, fine,” he admitted, “but I’ll fight to the last round.” She shook her head vehemently.

No, you’ve spilled enough blood. This fight is mine. As the riders drew closer, Najina crept out and crouched in the undergrowth. She watched their movements, their torches, their rifles, the way they dispersed like wolves circling their prey. She remembered her father’s words, spoken long ago: The earth fights with you if you know how to listen.

The desert offered him weapons: dry brush for fire traps, loose stones for ambushes, shadows deep enough to disappear into. He worked quickly, placing small piles of brush near the path, scattering stones where hooves would stumble. Every movement was silent, every breath steady.

Inside, Colt loaded his revolver with trembling hands. He watched her return, her face smeared with dust and her eyes burning with determination. “Are you up to something?” he murmured. She nodded. “It’s not a plan. It’s a promise. You won’t leave this place unscathed.” Night fell, and torches blazed across the ridge like a chain of fire.

The riders dismounted with cruel laughter, rifles at the ready. Rurk rode in front, his voice hoarse. “Get out, Madox,” he said. “Don’t make me drag you out of your hole.” Silence was his only reply. The riders scattered, torches held high. One man dismounted and set fire to the brush near the cabin walls. The flames greedily licked at the dry wood, and then all hell broke loose.

The stones Nagina had scattered caused the horses to rear up and the riders to fall to the ground. She darted out of the shadows, slashing through the reins and torches. The flames died down in the sand. The riders screamed and fired wildly, bullets whizzing past the cabin. Colt answered from the doorway.

Her shots were weaker, but still lethal enough to bring two men down. Nahina moved like fire itself. She would strike, vanish, and strike again. She sliced ​​off one rider’s leg, pushed another into the flames, grabbed a torch, and hurled it at their supply bags. A burst of fire roared as the gunpowder ignited, and the horses whinnied into the night.

Rurk shouted above the chaos, his voice cracking, “Find her, kill them both.” But his men hesitated. The desert wasn’t theirs that night. It belonged to her. When the smoke cleared, half the riders lay on the ground, the rest fleeing into the darkness. Rurk stood there, eyes blazing, his pistol drawn.

He pointed at the cabin where Cold leaned against the door, blood trickling down his chest. “You’re mine, Madox. You can’t hide behind her forever.” Nahina stepped between them, her knife gleaming, her body impassive. “He’s not hiding behind anyone, he’s with me.” Rurk smiled contemptuously. “Then you’ll die together.”

The tension mounted, and the final outcome hung in the night air. Inside, Colt forced himself to stand upright, the revolver trembling in his hand. Outside, Nahina’s chest rose and fell with the blade steady. Rurk paced, hatred burning in his eyes. The desert held its breath. The storm that had followed them from the beginning was about to break.

The night throbbed with the firelight and the acrid smell of smoke. The cabin burned slowly, its roof collapsing in sparks. Colt leaned against the door, the revolver trembling in his blood-stained hand. In the open courtyard, Njina stood erect, her knife gleaming in the moonlight, her eyes fixed on Rurk.

The outlaw paced, his boots crunching, his pistol drawn. His men were gone—dead, scattered, or fled—but his fury burned brighter than any torch. “All these years,” he spat, “I’ve carried my brother’s bones because of you, Madox. Tonight I’ll bury yours beside them.” Colt gave a grim smile. “First you’ll have to get past her.”

Njina lifted her chin. “He doesn’t just walk over me, he smashes against me.” Rurk’s laugh was bitter and broken. “A girl with a knife against a man with a gun is the courage of a fool.” In a flash, he raised his pistol. The shot rang out. Njina threw herself to the side, rolling in the dust as the bullet pierced her braid. She leaped up and slashed his sleeve with the knife.

A superficial cut, but enough to unsettle him. Colt fired from the doorway, and the bullet grazed Rurk’s shoulder. The outlaw staggered, but didn’t fall, rage twisting his face. “You’re fighting for a butcher,” Rurk yelled at Nagina. “Your father’s blood is on his hands.” Nagina’s chest heaved.

The truth pierced her. For a moment, doubt wavered, but she saw Colt bleeding, unflinching, standing tall even as death lured him, and her resolve hardened. “My father’s blood is not Madox’s responsibility alone,” she cried. “It is the responsibility of every man who rode with him, of every man who believed fire could rule.”

But he’s not that man anymore. He’s the man who freed me, and together we’ll finish you off. Her voice cracked like steel. Rurk roared and charged, pointing his gun at Colt. Naina lunged at him, brandishing her knife. She plunged it into his forearm and twisted it until the gun fell to the ground. He screamed and shoved her back with brutal force.

She fell to the ground with a thud, the air leaving her lungs. Rurk kicked the pistol into the fire, growling, “If I die, I’ll take him with me first.” He turned, his boots squealing against the earth, and fixed his gaze on Colt. Colt raised his revolver, but his hand was shaking too much. The shot would never hit its mark. Rurk smirked and stepped closer.

Njina forced herself to her feet, her ribs aching and her vision blurring. She staggered forward, the knife still in her hand. “You face both of us,” the outlaw sneered. “Then you’ll die first.” He lunged for her throat, but she dodged and slashed his side. The blade sank deep. Rurk roared and punched him in the face.

She stumbled, her mouth full of blood, but didn’t drop the knife. Colt yelled hoarsely, “Nahina!” and fired again. This time the bullet found its mark, tearing through Rork’s shoulder. The outlaw fell to his knees, gasping, but he wasn’t defeated yet.

Nahina seized the moment, lunging at him, her knee digging into his chest, forcing him to lie in the dust. She pressed the knife against his throat, her hands steady despite the trembling of her limbs. The silence of the desert seemed to gather around them, as if the very earth awaited their decision. Rurka’s eyes burned with hatred. Do it.

Shed blood like he did. Show the world you’re no different. Nagina’s chest heaved. Her heart pounded in her ears. She thought of her father, the fire, the chains that bit into his wrists. She thought of Colt, bleeding, but standing, carrying a shame heavier than any bullet. Her voice was low, fierce. No, I’m different.

She withdrew the knife and plunged it into the ground beside his head. Dust flew, the blade trembled, whirring softly. Rurk froze, his breath ragged. Naina slowly rose, knife in hand, and stood over him. You live with shame, you live with defeat.

The desert won’t forget you, but it won’t remember you with honor. Colt staggered closer, revolver pointed, his voice harsh. “Run, Rork, run until the desert claims you, because if I see you again, there will be no mercy.” Rurk’s eyes darted between them. A broken soldier and an unyielding girl.

For the first time, fear broke through her anger. With a grunt, she struggled to her feet, clutching her wounds, and fled into the night. Her footsteps faded until only silence remained. Nahina fell to her knees, her chest heaving, and the knife slipped from her hand.

Colt limped over to her and stroked her shoulder. “You have chosen mercy.” She looked at him, her eyes burning. “I haven’t chosen strength. Strength isn’t in killing. Strength is in knowing you don’t have to.” A lump formed in Colt’s throat. He nodded slowly. “Then you are stronger than the two of us combined.”

The fire behind them collapsed into sparks, sending a final plume of smoke toward the stars. Nahina and Colt stood in its glow, battered but unharmed. For the first time, the desert seemed quiet, not from threat, but from peace. The desert dawn rose soft and golden, the sky clear after a night of fire and blood.

Smoke still hung over the ruins of the cabin, curling into the pale horizon. Colt slumped against a rock, his bandaged shoulder stiff and his revolver finally at his side. Naina knelt by the nearby stream, in the blood from her knife, the water running red before clearing again. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

The silence was no longer heavy, but complete, as if the Earth itself were exhaling after holding its breath. Finally, Colt broke it. “We should be dead.” Nahina’s voice conveyed a steely calm. “But we’re not.” He turned his head and looked at her in the morning light.

She had bruises on her face and a cut on her lip, but her eyes burned with a steady, unwavering resolve. “You could have killed him,” Colt said. “I could have,” she replied simply. “And you didn’t.” Naina looked up at the horizon. Killing him wouldn’t bring my father back, wouldn’t heal my people’s wounds, but letting him go broken and ashamed, that will haunt him more than death.

Colt exhaled slowly, between a laugh and a sigh. “You have more wisdom than any general I’ve ever served.” At noon they mounted again, the desert stretching vast and endless before them. Colt’s body shrank with weakness, but Nina rode steadily beside him, guiding his reins when his strength waned. “Where are we going?” she asked softly.

He shrugged, grimacing in pain, looking north, perhaps to the river towns to start over. She watched him, her voice low. “And if your past haunts you?” He met her gaze. “Then I’ll face it, but I won’t do it alone anymore.” A pang of sadness crept into his chest at her words.

He didn’t answer, but there was no need. That night they camped under a sky ablaze with stars. Colt sat with his back against a rock, his hat tilted to one side, the pain reflected in his posture. Naina sat opposite him, feeding the fire with small branches, her knife resting on her knees. After a long silence, she spoke.

When they tied me up, I thought I’d die with nothing. No name, no options, just another ghost lost in the desert. Colt raised his head and stared at her. But now, she continued, I see I was wrong. I have a choice. I choose to walk beside you. Colt swallowed. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

Finally, he managed to say, “Then perhaps they saved me more than once.” The fire crackled between them, and sparks rose like scattered stars. For the first time in both their memories, the night seemed safe. Days turned into weeks. Col’s wound healed slowly under Njina’s watchful eye.

She hunted when food was scarce, with her sharp arrows and silent steps. He taught her to hold a rifle steady and to read the tracks of men and beasts. They moved like two parts of the same current, different, yet united. Rumors followed them to the trading posts.

A cowboy with shadows in his past, an Apache girl fiercer than 50 men. Some called them dangerous, others called them cursed. But those who watched them closely saw something more. They saw the way he looked at her before drawing his weapon, the way she stood in front of him when danger loomed. They weren’t cursed.

They had been chosen by fire, by blood, by the desert itself. One afternoon, while they camped on the riverbank, Njina stood watching the water sparkle in the setting sun. Colt joined her, his steps slow but steady. “Do you ever think about tomorrow?” he asked softly. She tilted her head. “Tomorrow is sand, it shifts with the wind.”

He smiled faintly. And yet, you walk toward him. Her eyes met his, because I don’t walk alone. For a long moment, the desert and the river seemed to hold them still. Then, Colt reached out and brushed his hand against hers. She didn’t pull away. In that simple touch was everything, his shame.

Her fire, her survival, her choice. The desert wasn’t kinder, but it no longer seemed endless. Together they carried what had once been unbearable. Together they rewrote what it meant to endure. And with every step forward, Nahina and Colt knew it wasn’t by chance. It was destiny forged in flames and sealed in blood.