Chapter Text
There’s a taste like dust in his mouth every time Zeb calls the Badlands home.
It’s all he’s known, all his life, but his soul can tell the difference. Maybe it’s the stories Kanan tells them of the world out there. Of water. Of trees. Tales of places where it rains in soft mists instead of roiling flash floods. Places where things grow. It sounds like fantasy. Still, some part of Zeb knows it’s true. Some part of him knows that’s where he belongs.
No point in dreaming when there’s work to be done though. The Badlands are where he is now. Same as the cow patties. And the chores. No story can get him out of chores.
This chore is kind of fun at least. He and Ezra are driving the cattle into the pen next to the farm for the night. They ride circles around the herd, corralling stragglers through the wooden gates until they can close up behind them. Zeb lost rock paper scissors so he’s riding Chopper, the spotted white and chestnut appaloosa, while Ezra rides Apee, the dark grey fox trotter. Zeb swears Chopper walks way too close to the fence on purpose, scratching up Zeb’s legs on the weathered wood.
Kanan calls Chopper stubborn as a mule, but Zeb thinks that's giving mules a bad name. At least Chopper cooperates when he knows Hera will give him carrots for being good. To think their livelihoods, and his life when he’s in the saddle, depends on carrots.
Zeb is just about to close the gate behind the last red cow, when something spooks her. She rears back, blowing right out of the gate opening and past Chopper who whinnies in protest. Ezra scrambles to shut the wooden gate before the rest of the herd stampedes. Zeb is already swinging back up onto Chopper with a curse. He doesn’t have to nudge him, Chopper already knows to take off after the stray cow. No carrots until the chore's done.
The grazing basin is a wide open place. Occasional toadflax, vetch, and wolf-willow pepper the beige dirt. Hoodoos rise up in layered columns around the distant edges of the basin, giving way to barren rolling hills beyond. What could scare a cow like that out here?
Zeb gets his answer when he looks to the right. A man on horseback, dressed in black, with the largest ridgetop hat he’s ever seen is riding a black stallion hard. He’s a broad shadow of a figure silhouetted in the red light of the setting sun. The wind buffets his clothes as he tears over the terrain. Zeb would love to know how a hat that big stays on.
The cow lows fearfully, legs carrying her in a full gallop. The stranger has changed course from carrying on past the ranch to intersecting the cow's path. Zeb refocuses, and presses low on Chopper’s back. He’s here to catch a cow, not ogle a stranger. They can’t afford to lose a single cow. They’re strapped enough for cash as it is. Hopefully this stranger isn’t thinking he’s going to get to keep the cow.
Zeb chances another glance over, knowing Chopper will keep his footing over the low shrubbery he’s roamed all his life. The stranger uncoils a rope in one hand while he grips the reins in the other. A lasso. Karabast. Zeb rushes to get his own ready, struggling to unclip it from the saddle as Chopper bounds ahead.
He’s almost to the cow. Chopper with the advantage of his home territory is evenly matched with the black stallion. Just a few more strides.
A looping rope lands over the cow’s neck. She pulls up short as the stranger hauls on the line. Zeb veers Chopper around to face him, annoyed that the stranger got there first. He should have sent Ezra instead. He'd have got there first on account of his uncanny way with animals and being a pipsqueak. Zeb doesn't have either of those traits in his favour. As if to prove his point, Chopper yanks against the reins stubbornly. Zeb yanks back, forcing him to complete the turn.
Which is of course when Chopper bucks him.
Already off balance from turning so sharply, Zeb falls off sideways and lands hard in the dirt. His reflexes are quick enough to land upright, but his left knee still strikes hard on the packed earth.
“Chopper! You good for nothing lump of glue! I’m gonna-”
Another pair of boots land in the dust.
“Y’alright there?”
Perfect. Not only did this guy spook the cow and outride Zeb, he’s also offering his hand as if Zeb’s some belle at the ball. Just perfect.
“I’m grand,” Zeb bites back, only halfway certain he hasn’t broken anything this time.
The urge to cuss at the stranger for spooking the cattle nearly leaves him as Zeb glances up at his face. The man is cast in a warm glow as if the sun wanted a better look at him too. He’s strong in the jaw and nose, severe as the sawtooth hoodoos in the distance. But there’s something soft between, maybe the gleam of his golden hair, maybe in his freckled cheeks above his beard. His eyes are light brown like the familiar stripes of the Badland hills. It sets Zeb at ease.
Which makes him uneasy.
Zeb ignores the outstretched hand and stands. The dust tumbles off him without any prompting, too dry to stick. The man’s hand falls to his side stiffly. Chopper chitters and sidesteps around the other horse, taunting the stallion. Idiot. If he gets bit, Zeb is so not holding him down while Kanan patches him this time.
“You oughta take better care of your cattle,” the man says haughtily.
So that’s how it’s gonna be. Zeb crosses his arms, hoping his biceps look intimidating, “And you oughta take better care not to spook our cattle with your…” he peers at the ridgetop hat. Oh, shit. That hunk of metal on the front is a sheriff’s star. Zeb quickly changes the trajectory of his sentence, “horse. Are you the new sheriff or something?”
The stranger raises an eyebrow and responds, “Sheriff Kallus. Word is there’s rebels in Lothal Township. I’ve been sent here to sniff ‘em out.”
Zeb can’t help laughing. It's a bit of nerves and a bit of irony. And the stupid hat. The new sheriff does not look amused.
“It looks like you’re the right man for the job then, eh?” Zeb says, gesturing to the lassoed cow.
The irony strikes the other man then. Zeb swears he almost sees the new sheriff smile. What a sight that would be.
“I suppose so,” Kallus peers beyond Zeb back to the ramshackle farmhouse where they’d come from, “Is that your farm?”
The snare of nerves pulls tight in Zeb’s chest.
“No, I just work there. The Phantom Ranch. Not much to see ‘cept the saddest vegetable garden you can picture and the loudest kids in the county.”
And the basement full of fugitives making their escape west from the New Empire. Zeb tries not to think about it too hard. Something about the piercing way Kallus is looking at him makes it seem like a good idea not to even let the thought cross his mind.
“Well, I’d love to visit, but I’m afraid I’ve got an appointment to keep with the governor,” Kallus swings up onto his horse with one easy stride. Zeb's throat goes dry. Must be the dust. “You can count on my visit soon though.”
Zeb nods, taking the lead of the cow when Kallus offers it. He was about to let the guy take the cow just to be rid of him. Sending the new sheriff out of sight would be worth the loss.
“Looking forward to it.”
A split second. That’s what it is. A brush of gloved fingers over the rope, a locking of eyes, green and brown and neither backing down. A slice of a second. That’s all it takes for Zeb’s world to flip with his stomach.
Chopper huffs impatiently.
The moment shatters.
Zeb steps back, clearing his throat. That’s the new sheriff right there. Not a friend. Not a… anything else.
“Well…” Kallus trails off, seeming to search for something else to say. There's a flush of red in the tops of his cheeks. Apparently coming up empty, he says, “Good evening.”
With a kick of his heel, his horse breaks back into a gallop.
Zeb watches the dust trailing his form until Chopper prods him hard in the side of the head with his horsey chin.
“Alright, alright, jesus!” Zeb throws his hands up, “We're going back to Hera, calm down. And I’m the one who should be complaining, you bucked me!”
Chopper gazes back, smug as a horse can be.
“One day Hera’s gonna get sick of looking at you and I’ll finally get some peace,” Zeb grumbles.
He doesn’t try to get back on Chop. That’s just asking for trouble. Judging from the cloud of beige dust rising across the basin, trouble is about the only thing they have in spades.
With one hand on the lassoed cow and the other on the reins of the insubordinate horse, Zeb starts making his way back to the pen. It takes three times as long as it did coming out. The cow takes her sweet time, trying to steal mouthfuls of dusty shrubs as she walks. Chopper pulls sideways on the reins at random intervals to try to catch Zeb off guard. It’s not as if they're not going to the same place. Chop would just prefer to walk on his own. Not a chance. The last time Chopper got away from Zeb, he beelined to the stables, hopping the fence and side-checking Ezra into the water trough. Zeb had laughed his ass off, but he wasn't about to be responsible for a repeat incident.
It might also take so long to return because Zeb keeps looking back at the dimming sky across the basin, ignoring the setting sun for a last glimpse of settling dust.