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For the first time in a very long time, the camp was at rest. After over a month of pure, unadulterated chaos, the group had finally settled into your new home at Horseshoe Overlook. The location was a beautiful outcrop near a bend in the Dakota River, with astonishing views in every direction. A paradise in the wilderness.
The day had broken with a chill in the air, and a light wind rolling in. Your friends and chosen family went about their daily business: darning clothes, tending to the horses, lightly taunting the O’Driscoll tied to a tree. Everything was good, all things considered.
The rain had started off gently enough, accompanied by the distant clap of thunder, before slowly overwhelming the camp in a crescendo of thunder, lighting, and torrential rain. This was one of the angry, passionate, ear-shattering, tree-cracking storms that are so unique to the Heartlands. The sky turned black, only illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning striking in the distance. Your fellow gang members ran for shelter, in awe of the relatively sudden change in weather.
As with most things in life, the storm was short-lived. After an hour, the roar of thunder and cracks of lighting could only be heard in the distance. Rain came, no longer in torrents, but rather in light drops, drumming a quiet rhythm on the tents. It would have been safe enough to go out, get back to work, but the camp has instead maintained this strange sort of calm. The fire had died down hours ago, put out by the earlier downpour, along with the normal hustle and bustle of the camp. Javier plucked gently at his guitar, providing the perfect soundtrack for the dark afternoon. In the distance, you could hear Jack reading slowly to Abigail and Hosea, and the low hum of the women gossiping under their lean-to.
No one was yelling. No one was working. No one was worried.
The camp was finally at peace.
The rain now patters gently on the canvas above you, lulling you into contentment. You breathed in the cool, fresh air, closing your eyes and savoring the scent of rain, campfire smoke, and him . The two of you sit in his tent, protected from the rain and huddled together on his small cot. He is leaned back against the aging wagon behind you, his worn journal resting on his lap. You are leaned back against him with a tattered book in your hands, melting into his warmth.
There is no place you would rather be. You haven’t been this content, this relaxed , for far too long.
Arthur scratches away at his journal, outlining the shape of a horse on the page. His left arm is wrapped around your shoulders, keeping you warm and close . Warm breath gently moves your hair, the only other movement in the tent. You nestle in closer to him, pulling his arm further around you and pressing a light kiss to his hand, before leaning your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. This was perfect.
You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but as you wake a few hours later, night has fallen. Cicadas chirp in the trees, the roar of thunder and pattering of rain now completely dissipated. Here and there ar
e a few snores from members of your chosen family, but otherwise,the peace that had overcome everyone earlier has endured.
Behind you, still leaning against the back of the blue wagon, face buried in your hair, sits Arthur. He is also fast asleep, having finished his drawing a few hours ago. He couldn’t bear to move you - not when you were finally getting the rest that all of you so desperately needed after the past few months - so he just stayed . His arm was still wrapped around your shoulders, and he had pulled a tattered blanket over the two of you, keeping out the chill.
You smile and turn slightly to look up at him. It was nice to see him like this. He usually carried the weight of the gang on his shoulders, alone, but when he slept it all slipped away. He was finally able to relax. You press a light kiss to his hand and gently move his arm from your shoulders, needing to stand after hours in the same position. Another kiss, this time on his forehead, and you quietly stand and slip out into the night.
The scent of rain still lingers, and most of the camp has stayed in their places and drifted off to sleep. Mud squishes between your toes as you tiptoe over to Pearson’s wagon, silent. You were careful not to make any noise, not to disturb the fragile peace. Gently, you grab a beer from the nearly-empty crate and make your way to the rocky cliffside. Sitting on the cliffs’ edge, you let your dirty feet dangle over the edge as you look over the magnificent land you had stumbled upon.
Horseshoe Overlook was situated in a truly picturesque part of the Heartlands. By the light of the stars, peeking out from behind clouds, you could just make it all out. Miles of rolling hills. The rambling Dakota River. Silhouettes of the Grizzlies. In the distance, the dim, flickering lights of a small town. It was beautiful. It was peaceful. It was perfect.
You breathed in, embracing the stillness of the evening and taking a sip of your beer. The cicadas continued their song from the nearby woods, lulling you into a contented reverie, until you hear quiet footsteps come up behind you.
“What’re you doin’ out here?” comes Arthur’s quiet voice, still groggy with sleep. You smile and pat the ground beside you. He returns your smile sleepily, before sitting beside you, legs dangling off the edge of the cliff. His body is so close to yours that you can feel his warmth radiating off of him.
Without a word, you lean into him, once again laying your head on his shoulder. His arm snakes around your shoulder, and he presses a light kiss to your forehead. You breathe deeply, calmly, and close your eyes, savoring the moment while you can.
If only this peace could last.