Sit by the fire: 73%
After a few minutes of waiting, Silver hadn’t returned with the grub, leaving Kestrel to wander out from her simple lean-to in search of a warm meal. She already had a good idea of why the silver mare wasn’t forthcoming: she’d probably been waylaid by conversation. And Silver was nothing if not a conversationalist.
The camp was alive with the buzz of activity as the sun finally set, bringing dark night over the desert. She saw movement near the edge of the camp overlooking the desert paired with Roughshod’s loud growl and Tumbleweed’s mild laugh. The two of them must have been drinking to celebrate the haul. Snapshot remained posted on the rock face above the camp, eyes ever-vigilant for the law or, even worse, the Pinks, and even if he wasn’t on watch, Kestrel knew he wouldn’t be participating in any celebration or festivities anyway. At the edge of the camp, Roughshod had bound Sienna to a wagon wheel, her forelegs bound over her head at the top of the wheel and her midsection tied tight around the spokes. The position was hardly comfortable and tears ran down the frightened mare’s face, garnering a little bit of sympathy from Kestrel as she passed. But she knew those ropes wouldn’t be undone until Tumbleweed decided otherwise.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good thing to bring that mare back to camp, but Kestrel knew the Gang’s safety took priority over everything else. She just hoped Sienna would cooperate, or Tumbleweed would hold true to his threats.
But her rumbling stomach didn’t let her keep her attention on the prisoner for long. Instead, she followed the sound of a guitar toward a flickering light on the other side of camp. There, she found Wanderer and Silvie seated by the fire, guitar in the old stallion’s wings while Silver ate and talked, usually at the same time. Silver had never been too forthcoming about her family and her past, but it was obvious that Wanderer filled some hole in her heart, because she always sought the stallion out when they were in camp and loved to talk with him. Wanderer, for his part, was a good listener at least, since it was nearly impossible to get a word in once Silvie started going full force.
Whatever (one-sided) conversation they were having, Kestrel interrupted it with the grace of a buffalo stampede as she walked between then and exaggeratedly rubbed a wing over her gut. “Celestia, I’m starving,” she moaned. “I been waiting hours for my silver servant to bring my royal majesty somethin’ good to eat!”
Silvie sat bolt upright in sudden realization, then shrank back down in shame. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Kestrel!” she said, profusely apologizing as she quickly picked up a bowl of stew that had already started to cool as it sat by her side, forgotten. She held it out to Kestrel and smiled uncertainly. “I got you some stew, I did, I just… well…”
Kestrel chuckled and took it in her wing. “Oh, I know. You couldn’t help yourself but talk Wanderer’s ear off, could ya?”
“She’s a great conversationalist,” Wanderer teased. “She does all the talking for me!”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Kestrel held the bowl of stew over the fire for a minute to let it heat up again, then took a seat by Silvie’s side. “Don’t mind me,” she said as she took her first spoonfuls. “I’m more interested in the eatin’ than the gabbin’.”
“I don’t even remember what we were… I was gabbin’ about in the first place,” Silver admitted.
“You were just talking about Canterlot,” Wanderer reminded her. “You lived there for a few years, right?”
“Oh yeah!” Silvie’s face brightened as she quickly found her lost train of thought. “Yeah, my pa and me moved to Canterlot when I was eight. I thought I was gonna be a princess. That’s where all the Princesses live, right? It was the most exciting thing for a little filly like I was then.”
Kestrel guffawed and slapped Silver on the back. “Oh, don’t kid yourself, Silvie. You’s still a little filly here.”
Silver frowned. “Well at least I’m not the youngest anymore!” she said, pointing into the distance. “Sienna’s five years younger than me!”
“I wouldn’t count her yet,” Wanderer said. “Who knows how long we’re gonna keep her around for.”
“Tumbleweed might just wanna put her in the ground once she talks,” Kestrel said with a nod. “Less dangerous that way. But don’t go tellin’ her any of that. She won’t ever talk then.”
Silver looked down at her own nearly empty bowl. “Yeah, I suppose…”
Kestrel patted her on the back. “Leave the torturin’ and interrogatin’ to the experts, Silvie. You just focus on doin’ you.”
The young pegasus blinked. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“She means don’t worry about it,” Wanderer said. “You’re young, and you haven’t been with us for all that long. You’re still trying to find your place, no shame in it.”
“I’ve been with you for six months now!” Silver protested. “I was there when we hit that train!”
“Way I seem to remember it, you was supposed to get on a different train at that station, saw a bunch of shady characters chasin’ down a government train, and couldn’t help yourself but join along,” Kestrel said with a laugh and a shake of her head. “If you hadn’t saved Tumbleweed’s life in the coal car, I don’t think he woulda let you join us.”
“You ever regret it?” Wanderer asked Silver.
“No!” Silver exclaimed without a moment’s hesitation. “Pa was puttin’ me on that train to go to Van Hoover and learn to be a lady. I was gonna stay with my auntie who I hadn’t seen since I was three and join the aristocracy. Big, frilly dresses and teatime three times a day, with evenin’s of listenin’ to piano and staring at abstract art, commentin’ how modern it is…”
“Sounds a mite better than sittin’ around a dusty campfire eatin’ salted offal,” Kestrel said. “You coulda had all the money and comforts you wanted.”
“The only money I ever woulda seen in that life would be an allowance from my future husband,” Silver grumbled. “I like this. I like the excitement, the adventure, doin’ things our own way and not lettin’ anypony tell us ‘no’. I only wish I coulda found y’all sooner.”
Wanderer sighed and shook his head. “If I were you, I would have taken that life,” he said, solemn eyes staring into the fire. “Our days are coming to an end, dear Silver. The government wants to stamp us out once and for all. The Pinkie Pie Detective Agency—the Pinks—they’ve been hounding us since the hotel. We may have slipped them for now, but sooner or later, they will find us again. And if we don’t have the money to leave this country and disappear for good, we’re going to find ourselves on the end of their ropes before long.”
Silence fell over the campfire as Wanderer brought them all back down to earth. That was the situation, and Kestrel knew it. It was the only purpose the Gang had left anymore: steal enough money to leave the country and go someplace the Pinks would never find them, or run out of time and die like so many other gangs before them.
The strumming of Wanderer’s guitar filled the proceeding silence around the fire as, for once, Silver had nothing to say. Kestrel finished her bowl of stew and set it aside, her eyes not leaving the fire. Sometimes she thought she could see things in the flames, but Miss Irons had always waved such tales off as superstition. No such images presented themselves to her tonight, but then again, she didn’t have all that long to look into the fire before another pony interrupted them.
“Look at the three of you, all solemn-like,” Miss Irons said as she walked past. “Tumbleweed and Roughshod have the right idea. At least they look like they’re enjoying themselves.”
“We are,” Wanderer said. “At least, I am. My terrible playing hasn’t scared these two fillies off yet.”
“It’s not terrible!” Silver protested. “I like it a lot!”
“At least somepony does,” Miss Irons said with a wry smile. She leaned over and kissed Wanderer, rubbing a hoof between his wings. “I’m going to get some rest,” she said. “Will you be over soon?”
“In dear time, my lady,” he said, winking at her. “Kessie looks like she’s about to keel over. I want to see if I can outlast at least one of these hotblooded young’uns tonight.”
“Fat chance,” Kestrel said with a derisive wave of a wing… even if the end of the wave saw her covering her muzzle as she yawned.
“I’d love to see that,” Miss Irons said. Nevertheless, she shook her head, pecked Wanderer on the cheek again, and disappeared without so much as a ‘goodnight’ to the other mares around the fire.
After a few moments of silence, Kestrel let her eyes fall back to the fire. “Seems like she’s only sweet on you,” she said.
“Love does strange things to a mare,” Wanderer said. He smirked back at Kestrel. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Silver blinked in surprise. “Wait… Kestrel, is there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me?” She clapped her hooves together like an excited schoolfilly. “I didn’t know you ever fell in love! Tell me all about it!”
Kestrel’s eyes lingered on the flames for several long moments as long-buried memories came swirling back to the forefront of her mind. Memories of...
1. A traveling artist, who flew across Equestria in search of inspiration for his paintings. His family auctioned off everything he owned to pay off his debts when he died, apart from a simple sketch of Kestrel in profile that she keeps tucked next to her heart.
2. A gold prospector, who ventured deep into the Equestrian west to make it big, all by herself. She never struck it rich, but she gave Kestrel a charm made of eagle feathers that she hangs from the post of her lean-to. The last time Kestrel saw her, a grizzly bear had opened up her chest with its long, cruel claws.
3. A train conductor, who looked the other way when the Gang needed to hide on a freight car to escape the Law. He brought them food and water, and would see Kestrel whenever they happened to be near Dodge Junction. But his employers were bought out not long afterwards, and he disappeared into the north as they moved him to a different line. He left Kestrel a love letter and the ring he would have given her had they been able to marry.
4. A rich filly, daughter of an oil magnate, infatuated with the wild life of an outlaw. She had nearly run away from her family altogether before her father intervened and cast Kestrel away, threatening to kill her on sight if he ever saw her again. His daughter had no choice but to stop seeing Kestrel and broke her heart. All Kestrel has to remember her by is a scratched locket with a picture of the two of them by the lake.
5. Nothing but fuzzy memories of brothels and whiskey.
(Confidence Required: 30 Votes)