//------------------------------// // Chapter 32 // Story: Unshaken // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// Kestrel awoke some time later with fire in her gut and a pounding in her skull. It took her some time to realize where she was—the last thing she remembered was the sun on her face, the scalding heat of the train’s furnace on her back, and the face of a familiar stallion in front of her. Was he… no, that was impossible. Her head hurt too much to think clearly. But she recognized the canvas of the lean-to over her head, and her nose twitched at the familiar scent of camp and her bedding. The stars were coming out, so she knew that she’d been out cold for a long time, and when she forced herself to sit upright, she noticed the bandages around her midsection. The Gang must have taken her back to camp and removed the bullet in her gut, letting the potions work on stitching her back together. She already felt slightly more alive, if still dizzy and light between her ears. Kestrel has recovered 1 point of Healthiness from rest and letting the potion work. She is now Seriously Injured. Shadows flickered across the flat ground of the campsite, accompanied to laughter and hollering. Kestrel winced and placed a hoof against her temple as she looked toward the fire, where the silhouettes of her companions sat around the blaze, bottles of booze between them. Wanderer had returned from Rock Ridge, and Kestrel could tell just by the way he moved his wings and hooves that he was in the middle of another of his legendary tales, no doubt coaxed out of him with alcohol. They were celebrating the take, that much was obvious, and Kestrel figured it had to be good if they were this happy. At least that meant almost dying was worth it. “She’s awake. Finally.” Kestrel grunted and angled her head to the left. Trixie sat on the back steps of her wagon, which she’d parked next to Kestrel’s lean-to, a bottle of beer floating in her magic. She looked cross, but then again, she always seemed cross—at least as far as Kestrel had briefly known her. But while everypony else enjoyed stories and drinks by the fire, Trixie sat alone. “Why ain’t you with the others?” Kestrel grunted, turning to face her. “Trixie can tell when she’s not wanted,” Trixie muttered. She pressed the bottle to her lips and took several gulps, flinging the empty glass aside when she drained it all. The bottle shattered against a rock, filling the night with a gentle tinkling. “The showing in the canyon was not Trixie’s finest hour. Tumbleweed is very disappointed with her, Trixie can tell.” Her eyes settled on Kestrel’s. “And with you.” Kestrel sighed, but she didn’t expect anything less. Tumbleweed was fiercely protective of the Gang, and he could be at times more cautious than Kestrel cared for. He never let the Gang grow large or quickly, and for good reason. When you lived your life only a tail hair ahead of the Law, any mistakes could get you killed. The mistakes of Trixie and Sienna today would not have been tolerated if Kestrel hadn’t stopped the train, and she knew it. Perhaps she should have been grateful that Tumbleweed hadn’t had her new recruits shot while she was out. “At least you tried to stop it with some dynamite.” Trixie scoffed. “Trixie does not like that word. Tried. That’s the word of a failure. At least she got something from the robbery.” She touched a half-full bag of bits by her side. “Five hundred bits is more than what Trixie sees in a month, though she is jealous that they left you five times that number. At least she fares better than the coward; they gave her nothing.” Kestrel blinked. “Coward? You talkin’ ‘bout Sienna?” Trixie nodded. “She did nothing in the robbery. While Trixie tried to stop the train, she cowered under the wagon. Your friends made her drag the wagon full of Army gold all the way back here, but Trixie could feel their resentment. When they decided to celebrate, the big stallion chased her away to the other end of the camp.” After a moment to contemplate the empty space by her side, Trixie frowned and leaned back against the door of her wagon. “Trixie would not be surprised if she has already fled camp for good. That would be a shame. Unlike her, Trixie remembers quite vividly the veiled threats Tumbleweed made when he took her back to camp.” “Yeah, for as much as they was ‘veiled.’” It was the same oath that Tumbleweed had gotten out of everypony in the Gang, and it kept them safe. “We had some mare a year back join us and cross us to the Law,” Kestrel said, shrugging her wings as she came back to the memory. “We killed the bounty hunters that came after us, then we killed her, too. We didn’t make it pretty or clean. She didn’t deserve pretty or clean.” She let piercing eyes fall on Trixie. “No matter how much the Law says they gonna pay you for our hides, you ain’t gonna live long enough to enjoy it ‘fore we getcha. Sweet lil’ Poinsettia, well, she found that out the hard way.” Trixie’s eyes widened, but she swallowed her fear and surprise and replaced them with pointed disinterest. “Well, Trixie knows better than that. You can count on her to watch your back, so long as you watch hers.” She stood up and started toward the fire in the center of camp, but hesitated when she walked past Kestrel’s lean-to. “Trixie already has, actually. It was she who pulled the bullet out of your stomach.” That was news to Kestrel. “You don’t say?” “I do,” Trixie said, blowing a sweaty bang out of her eye. “And I hope that means something if Tumbleweed decides he’s disappointed with my contributions to your little family. After all, he stresses that we are all a family now…” She flicked her head back toward the campfire. “Whatever. Do you want something? Trixie can bring something back for you.” Kestrel waved her off with a wing. “I’ll get up if I’m feelin’ like it.” That caught Trixie off guard. “Are you sure? You should be resting, not walking around the campsite.” “I’ll be fine,” Kestrel insisted. “Go and get somethin’. I’ll be up in a bit, I think. Maybe.” Trixie scoffed and let her eyes wander to the young stars. “If you say so, Kestrel. Try not to tear open your stitches. Trixie will be the one who has to patch them back up again when you do.” Then she was gone, cape fluttering in her wake. Kestrel watched her go, go until she seemed to meld into the crowd by the fire, if only for a moment. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain in her gut. The night was young and full of possibilities, but that wound was there to remind her she wasn’t getting any younger. Even as she watched, the group began to separate into two or three little clusters of ponies, happily enjoying themselves and their alcohol in the afterglow of a successful day. She wondered if she should join them. 1.     Join Wanderer, Tumbleweed, Miss Irons, and Trixie by the fire. Wanderer is always the best at tellin’ stories. Half of ‘em ain’t true for sure, and the other half, I ain’t got a clue, but if there’s anyway to enjoy an evenin’, it’s sittin’ with him around the fire. 2.     Join Silver and Snapshot by the scout fire. Silvie’s doin’ her best to get Snapshot to cut loose, looks like. Such an endeavor ain’t likely to work, but it’ll be funny to see her try. 3.     Look for Sienna. Now where did that mare get off to? I ain’t seein’ her anywhere ‘round here… 4.     Go to sleep. Roughshod’s already been through a few bottles of gin, and he’s practically snorin’ already. Maybe he’s got the right idea; I am hurt after all. (Confidence Required: 40 Votes)