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Chapter Text

Many years later, as she was leaving a single flower over a nameless grave, Courier Six was to remember that evening when she saw for the first time the man she’ll always love. 

It all began with an accurate shot. A head shot. She was convinced it had been a head shot. Or better said, a chest shot. She saw it, the impact, the blood. No matter if she had hit his heart directly or not, he was dead. He had to be. The force of a .308 caliber shot in the pectoral area was enough to burst the blood vessels near the heart. The expansive force itself was enough to damage the heart beyond what it could withstand. 

No man could survive that.

"Happy Valentine's Day, bastard," the young woman mumbled while she wrote down the date she had shot her target. 02/14/2276 Malpais Legate, also known as Joshua Graham, dead. "Rot in hell." 

The sun was bright above her, as forgiving as it could be in the Legion territories. Two weeks of studying and following her target had finally paid off. It had not been an easy task. Always in the hiding but keeping herself close enough to her objective. Witnessing horrors she would never forget. That man, if he could be deemed as such, was vile beyond redemption. A rotten monster razing this earth, consuming any hope, devouring every glimmer of light. Waking up in the middle of the night, she feared that at any moment the Legion would discover her and do abominable things to her. 

Worse than the Legion, the Legate. She had seen the despicable torments he inflicted upon his men, she didn't want to know what he would do to an enemy young woman.

Up to the moment when she pulled the trigger, her entire body was ridden by anxiety. But it was all over. Malpais Legate was dead, a thing of the past. Soon his flesh will be eaten by vultures, his bones forgotten. 

The young woman could not stop savoring her victory. Three times the man had been reported dead, but she was sure that this time it was the good one. Her bullet had been the one to end his reign of terror. Her mind couldn't stop imagining how people in California would react. Veteran Rangers had been unable to take down the Malpais Legate, and she, on her first mission after completing her training, had been able to accomplish such an impossible task. It was the perfect way to enter her 20s. A hero. She even saw herself as Chief of the Rangers in the not so distant future. 

And of course, her parents would be proud of her, especially her mother. Being a ranger ran in the family. Her mother was a veteran ranger who had fought side by side with Cassandra Moore and Chief Elise, among others. And before her mother, her grandparents had been among the first different rangers to work together. Her grandmother, a desert ranger from the badlands of Nevada, her family tracing back to pre-war America. Her grandfather, the son of one of Seth and Aradesh's most trusted men, became one of the longest serving rangers in the Republic. Her family had been one of those who had done the most to get the ranger reunification treaty signed. 

To fight against all forms of tyranny. It was in her blood. Deep rooted in her DNA. 

And now she had succeeded in bringing down the greatest tyrant of all shortly after her 20th birthday. Already surpassing her family's accomplishments. Before abandoning the area, she took the prayer card of the Virgin of Guadalupe that her father had given her to bring her luck and protection in her mission and gave it a kiss. "Gracias," she whispered. The young woman was sure that our Lady of Guadalupe would always watch over her. Would always protect her. No harm would fall upon her if she was watching her.

On her way back, she picked a desert lily. Its white petals, soft against her fingers, would always remind her of this day. A memento of her victory. Un recuerdo. Six petals white as deathly bone, holding more significance than she could envision at that moment. As her footsteps took her far from the harsh lands of Arizona and back to California, this young but promising ranger thought about the man she just killed. For a moment, just before pulling the trigger, it had been as if their gazes had met. His cold, blue eyes not showing a thread of fear nor panic when he discovered himself under the scope. She had had the privilege of looking into the devil's eyes before sending him back to hell. A peek into the heart of an endless winter.

Malpais Legate had been terrorizing the world for more than two decades. For longer than she had been alive. Many of her comrades had met a gruesome end in his territories, and as he and his master moved with the intention of crossing the Colorado River, the Republic had resolved to put an end to their reign of terror. 

Taking him down was the top priority, and she had been the one to do it. Her sniper rifle, her eyes looking down at the target, her finger pulling the trigger. Her name would be the one written in history books as the woman who took down the Malpais Legate. Sophia Leona López. That would be the name. 

Of course, history would prove her wrong. Not only did she fail to assassinate her target, the Legate ended up surviving another attempt against his life before the Battle of Hoover Dam, where the monster finally met his match. But at that moment, as her boots stepped over sand and dust, the wind ruffling her raven hair and the sun warming her back, the young woman felt nothing but triumphant. 

A roaring feeling in her chest, a victory shattered when a few weeks later, Joshua Graham came back from the dead. At first she didn't believe the reports. It was a mistake. Someone who looked like him, maybe a son, or just a coincidence. But no. NCR intelligence confirmed that he had indeed survived another assassination attempt and was planning on marching towards the Mojave. He was alive, and she refused to accept that idea until she saw him again. 

It was the Battle of Hoover Dam when their fate crossed again. Sophia was with the rangers working alongside the First Reconn, aiming for the veteran legionaries and, of course, the Legate. Most of the veterans were taken down, finding their demise in the hands of calculated bullets. By the book, just like Hanlon had predicted. She had aimed for Malpais Legate, wanting to finish what she started a year ago, only to find failure once again. Her eyes saw him charge forward, falling directly into the trap, into Boulder City. Yet, her bullets kept missing. Once she had lost him out of sight, she just expected for her brother to finish her mission. 

And he did.

That day, Caesar's Legion almost met its end. Almost. In exchange for the lives of 107 members of the Republic, among them her brother, Héctor López, the Legion suffered the greatest defeat in its history. 

The last thing Sophia witnessed as ranger was the execution of Joshua Graham. At both sides of the Colorado River, the world held its breath. Crimson red and roaring fires framed the scene, hundreds of men looking at the trial and execution of their general. On her side of the river, nothing could be heard, but it wasn't necessary to understand what was going on. 

Sitting above all on his elevated throne so everyone could look up at him, surrounded by his Praetorian guard, Caesar himself was reading Malpais Legate's transgressions. And the man, the condemned, was doing nothing but look up from his kneeling position. He had been stripped of his clothes, except for his underwear, his white skin contrasting with the intense red around him. Pale flesh that once was tanned by the cruel sun of Arizona, a stark opposition to red banners and golden bulls around him. Tyrant and right hand looking at each other one last time, between them the crumbling years of building an empire together. As one tried to present himself as a god and the other carried himself just by the strength of his will alone, many saw how the title of king had been misplaced.

Kneeling, almost naked, listening to his failures, alone against a multitude. No man should be looking so threatening in such a position, and yet, when another ranger passed her a pair of binoculars and told her to focus her attention to the legionaries by his sides, she cursed between her teeth. Trembling. Those two men, wearing armor and pointing their spears at his neck, were trembling. It wasn't an obvious thing, but for the trained eyes of a ranger, it couldn't be more obvious that those men were shaken by fear. 

But that fear wasn't the worst thing she saw that day. Every event that came after the previous one was more terrible than the one before. For starters, the Malpais Legate was relaxed. His stance was prideful, but calm. Straight back, head tilted up. There was something chilling about it. And while Sophia couldn't see it, his eyes were fixed on Caesar, the burning hatred of his gaze the only betrayal of emotion. The blue of a winter storm that would always haunt the dictator, eating away his psyche and consuming him with paranoia. 

Everyone around her was commenting on what Caesar would do to him. The majority guessed crucifixion, an ironic end for a former missionary. But when the dictator stood up and made a signal, silence consumed those at her side of the river again. 

In the dusk as they stood, they watched as the Praetorian guard carried a heavy chest. Once they set it down and opened it, the smoke inside was cut against the mosaic of colors that was the sky over the immensity of the Grand Canyon. The gray fumes broke the harmony of the purples, oranges and blues painting the firmament. And it was at that moment when she saw a sliver of emotion in Joshua Graham's body. Still looking through her binoculars, the young woman perceived how his toes twitched and curled almost imperceptibly when the men in front of him raised the chest and poured its contents over his head. 

"Jesus Christ…" Someone said besides her, and not for nothing. 

At her side of the river, many, herself included, didn't bother to hide their horrified faces. Only those like Hanlon, Moore and her own mother kept a stoic face. Oliver Lee had curled his lips and shaken his head. As for Sophia, she felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach as the black pitch fell over him. 

Now his body was moving. Not twisting or fighting against the thick liquid, but more with discomfort. Bowing his head, she guessed that he must be trying to stop the tar from getting in his eyes and nose. Impossible to be heard from the other side of the river, but his troubled breathing as he was fighting the pungent pitch was closer to that of a beast, rather than a man. Closer to a monster, maybe. The smoke was coming from his body now, slow in movements but still firm enough for some men, Caesar included, to flinch when he tried to stand up. The dictator gave another order, and his former legate was forced to the edge of the cliff. The next part of his execution came in the form of flames. With another gesture, the man once known as Edward Sallow had Joshua Graham set on fire. 

Every mortal soul witnessing the execution was expecting the same - screams. Harrowing howls breaking the silence, reaching the other side of the river. Desperate cries of pain finally breaking the composure of those strong willed. Grotesque contortions of a body unable to escape anywhere except to death. Small compassion blooming for a man who deserved none. 

But no.

No cry, nor yell, nor howl broke the ominous silence. Only the infernal light of the fire was proof of what was happening. Perhaps that man was indeed the devil, and the flames did nothing but give him strength. Flames engulfed his dark figure, a chilling source of light in the imminent night. Hundreds of souls felt fear at that moment, both Legion and NCR hearts in tune at the presence of such horror. The world held its breath once again when the Malpais Legate was pushed down the cliff, thousands of feet of fall, a silent wake falling into the abyss, fire marking the way to the bottom of the dark void. 

As for Sophia, more shocked than she was willing to admit, a strange urge flourished in her chest. It was insistent, like a drop that erodes the rock for hundreds of years, like the wind that ends up erasing the highest peaks. To silence that urge, she dwelled into it. Still not understanding why she was doing it, Sophia said a little prayer for the man. She didn't even know for what purpose. For his soul, or maybe for his pain to end soon. Perhaps she was just praying for herself.

The prayer was one she had memorized long ago, not wanting to specify any idea. Just a message to God, something hopeful at the end of a nightmare. The words were sincere, but alienating, more profound than she intended. Any spiritual inclinations were born in her only because of how it mattered to her father. Emiliano López was a simple man, a courier from the south who ended up settling down in California after he met the woman who would become his wife. He was the one who helped Sophia start working as a courier after her mother pulled the strings and removed her from service; Sylvia Steinbeck wasn't ready to lose another child to the Legion.

And once Sophia arose from the sands of the Mojave as Courier Six, her mother blamed herself, just like she had blamed herself for the death of her first born. Guilt is a powerful thing, like crows’ claws digging into raw skin. Painful and tormenting, but never deathly. If she had allowed her daughter to keep her service as a ranger she would have been able to protect her. Instead, she almost disappeared in the same desert her son had met his end.

“Mom, he chose to be in this city not because of who you’re or what our family is,” Sophia tried to bring some comfort to her mother when they visited the memorial at Boulder City a couple of years after the battle, “but because of who he was.”

But as well meaning as it may be, sometimes words are insufficient to provide solace. Before becoming Courier Six, Sophia walked many roads. East to west, north to south. Never finding a place worth settling in. Forever fighting for a new purpose, often going back to that moment when she almost found her destiny. A moment in the badlands of Arizona that turned her victory into the same ashes her target would become a year later. During all her life, up to her deathbed, she would go back to that morning, looking through her scope, seeing the devil before falling for him. But before that happened, Sophia was just a courier. One of many. She would walk alone, with her trusted rifle and a dried desert lily as her only company. All those roads, unknowingly, leading to her grave. A grave that proved unable to keep her down, for her story wasn’t done yet. 

The game was rigged from the start. Even before she was kneeling in front of her grave, everything conspired to tie her destiny to that of a man who had been blessed and condemned with fire.

Two souls too stubborn to die, for they had yet to meet. 

Chapter Text

Many people share the same name. That's why when Follows-Chalk told her that their warchief's name was Joshua, she didn't give it a second thought. Being the sole survivor of an ambush was enough distraction for the woman now known as Courier Six to not think much about who this “Joshua” may be. It wasn’t like she was too close with anyone from that caravan, it was just a simple job she took to distract her mind from the whereabouts of the Mojave, but still, it left her shocked. It reminded her too much of her service years ago, when her fellow soldiers found a gruesome dead at the hands of the Legion.

But the rotting corpses of her caravan left her mind when she got face to face with the Dead Horses’ warchief. It wasn’t his voice when he welcomed her, nor his face, for she couldn’t discern it under the bandages, but his eyes. Those freezing eyes that should have faded away from this world long ago. A ghost, the embodiment of a nightmare, sitting in front of her. Warm tones framed his silhouette, two torches illuminating a demon who should be paying his penance, not breathing among the living.

“And you're a courier, no less. Not the one I was expecting, but I suppose -” 

“Cut the crap, Malpais Legate,” she interrupted him, sharp in her words. Even if her rationality wasn’t the same since the bullets, she was still cautious enough to not attempt anything in the middle of his territories. That didn’t mean that she had to be kind with him either. “I don’t fucking care who you were expecting, I just came here with Happy Trails Caravans. We were trying to make contact with the New Canaanites.”

If her rudeness bothered him, he did a great job at hiding it. The only change in his motion was to look briefly at her before continuing his repetitive task of checking a pile of guns. If she had to be honest with herself, the scenario was so mundane that a part of her disgust evaporated, replaced by something akin to curiosity.

“ I have bad news for your employers,” his tone became somber, but otherwise he kept his relaxed demeanor. “New Canaan was destroyed, its citizens scattered. All because of the White Legs. And Caesar, of course.”

“Caesar, of course,” she repeated back, her voice mocking him. This earned her another sharp gaze from the man in front of her, who now took his time to size her up. She was lean and fit, slightly taller than the average wasteland woman, and stronger than she looked. That was something she always used in her favor - men tended to underestimate her. “Well, that’s bad news for sure. Now what?”

“We can help you find your way back. Daniel, one of the other New Canaanites, has made many maps of the region,” something in his tone told her that he had more to say, so she waited for him, tapping her foot on the ground, bitter just by being in his presence. It wasn't just the fact that he was the Malpais Legate in the flesh, but also the living proof of her failure. “The other bad news is that we can't help you right now. Not with everything that's going on.”

“So what? Do you expect me to help you around until you decide to show me the way out of here?” The sole idea of having to help this man made her blood boil. Since she came face to face with him, Six had been fighting the impulse to shoot him and finish what she started almost seven years ago. But no. The shot would alert the rest of the tribe, and she would need to catch him out of guard to silently kill him with her knife. “That’s if you show me the way back.”

“I understand that it may seem difficult for you to trust me, especially giving that you are aware of my past self,” the former legate was trying to keep his cordiality, which did nothing but anger Six more, “but I can assure you that no harm will fall on you while you’re here. Not by the hand of any member of the Death Horses, nor mine.”

“And tell me, why can’t I just find this Daniel guy and choke the information out of him?” 

“There are many reasons why that would be a bad idea. I will illuminate three,” her words seemed to finally get a reaction out of him. Subtle, but noticeable enough for her. Leaving the gun he was cleaning over the table, his cold eyes burned through her. “First, do not believe that because Daniel is a missionary he is incapable of or unwilling to defend himself. Second, if you harm Daniel or any of the Sorrows or Dead Horses, I will find you," those words made her tense for a brief moment, the weight of her pistol on her hip more evident than ever. It would be a second to reach for her pistol, but she wasn’t sure if she was fast enough to shoot him before he did. "Make no mistake. God willing, you will not leave this valley,” that threat sent a chill down her spine, like a primitive reaction of her instincts to a long forgotten danger. At that moment they just exchanged a warning gaze, but Joshua Graham would later admit to her that she held her composure better than most in his presence. “Lastly, waging war against good people is bad for the soul. This may not seem important to you now, but it's the most important thing I've said.”

Any fear he managed to install in her heart disappeared with his last reason. Scoffing with disdain, Six reminded herself that she almost killed this man. As he continued his routine, her eyes fell to his chest, wondering if the scar left by her bullet would still be noticeable beneath the burns. Not bothering to hide her damaged pride, Six crossed her arms over her chest, in her face a grimace of disgust. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Follows-Chalk can help you find your way around the valley,” he was back to his cordial self, and Six couldn’t wait to leave and forget about his existence. “Now obviously, taboos against Pre-War buildings won't be a matter for you - but take caution when you go rooting around in them.”

Giving him one last disgusted look, the young woman just turned around with the intention of leaving. She was just about to leave him behind when something caught her eye. Laying over a pile of boxes, she saw the Holy Bible, and at that moment her curiosity took the best out of her. She approached the book, running her fingers down the black cover decorated with golden letters. That the Malpais Legate was a New Canaanite was something known by anyone serving the NCR army, that wasn't a surprise for her. What she didn't expect was for him to actually be a follower of their faith. 

Picking up the book and flipping through the pages, Six saw that he also had the Book of Mormon. There were more books beneath that one, but she was only interested in the one between her hands. Regarding her own beliefs, she only had real faith in the protective power of Our Lady. 

Just before her death, when Benny took his pistol out, she saw the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and a calm came to her. She felt no fear when looking down at the barrel. And when she woke up a week later at Doc Mitchell's house, the first thing she did was give a silent thank you to her. Now María, the same pistol that Benny used to shoot her, was with her. She'll keep protecting her, and Six was also sure that this pistol won't fail her when she attempts to kill the Malpais Legate a second time. No matter how much he may pray to God.

“Yes?” Joshua Graham's voice hid a glint of curiosity. It didn't startle her, and taking her time, she left the book where she found it. “May I help you with something else?”

“You should be dead,” not bothering to wait for his answer, Six left the cave behind, not wanting to think about the monster hiding inside its walls.

As she went to meet Follows-Chalk, she promised herself that as soon as the situation in the valley had stabilized, she would return to the Mojave with Malpais Legate’s head in her hand. Kissing the image of the Virgin, she swore to her, to her family, to her brother, that she’ll take him down this time. 

Used to working alone, Six ended up setting her improvised makeshift bed far from the rest of the camp. She enjoyed Follows-Chalk company, until he would eventually start talking about Joshua Graham. Not wanting to give any hint about her true intentions, she would excuse herself either to explore a different part of the ruins they were in, or if they were in the camp, she’ll go to her corner.

But the worst wasn’t Follows-Chalk praising that monster in human form. Every time Graham was in the camp he would always watch her. His eyes following her, his presence always noticeable to her. As if he was threatening her. 

Today, while she was cleaning her weapons, the former legate came to her. The sound of his boots made her reach for her knife, warning him that he shouldn’t come any closer to her. She was far from the camp, sheltered in a small opening at the base of a cliff, but Six wasn’t afraid of being alone with him. On the contrary, now that she was alone, she believed that it was a good opportunity to kill him if he tried anything. 

Keeping her knife at hand, the young woman continued cleaning her weapons, opting to ignore him. His figure stayed still in front of her, the closest he had been to her. The sunset behind them announced the impending night, the shadows of the rock formations loomed over them in the same way that the man threatened her with his silhouette. 

It was a pulse, and she wasn't going to lose it.

“I’m well aware that you don’t trust me, and it’s not my intention to change your mind,” his words caught her attention, and Six looked at him, basking in the fact that he had been the one to break the silence. She took her time to study his figure. Despite everything he had gone through, his presence was nothing but striking. Tall, wide back, firm shoulders, he wasn’t that different from the man she had seen through her scope years ago. “Who I was and the things I have done can’t be erased, but my only intention is to ensure the safety of any soul that wanders into Zion. It would be for the best if you stayed in the camp with the rest of us.”

“Oh, is that so, Legate?” Leaving her rifle on the ground and standing up, Six wanted to show him that not only did she not fear him, but also that he should be careful with her. Her hand was resting over her pistol, still in its holster. Six took a couple of footsteps, closing the distance between them. And he did not react, as immovable as the mountains around them. “Would I be safer if I stayed near you? Do you think I’m so stupid to go where you are surrounded by your people?”

“And you really think you stand a chance against me, here and alone?” He said not as a threat, but as a statement. “If I had wanted to harm you in any way, you would have met your maker days ago,” Six was about to keep arguing back just to escalate things when his posture changed. The man in front of her closed his eyes, took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. “I apologize for that. My only intention was to offer you my hospitality. For the past few days the White Legs have been lenient on us, but they’re becoming bolder in their attacks. We may not be able to help you on time if they decide to ambush you.”

“I can take care of myself,” holding his gaze, she tilted her head up.

“I never said otherwise,” his eyes narrowed, taking a moment to look at her pistol. “But sometimes it is good to have friends. Especially in times of darkness.”

“Friends?” Laughing at his words, the young woman turned around, hoping that it would be enough for him to understand that she was done talking to him. “Maybe you fooled these people and the New Canaanites with that repentant attitude you’re wearing, but I’m not an idiot. I know what kind of heartless motherfucker you are, Legate.”

“Then you should know that my patience has its limits,” he replied with a sinister attitude, his voice carrying all the horrors of the Legion. 

His words reminded her of the things she had witnessed when she was hunting him. In particular an incident that to this day still burned in her memory. Hidden among the dunes in the painted desert of Arizona, through her binoculars she saw the Malpais Legate training his men, a few hundred legionaries blindly obeying the man in front of them. The Legate was firm and confident in all his movements, an aura of arrogance surrounding him. A contradiction made flesh, for he was distant and passionate at the same time, a wildfire in a winter forest, ashes falling over bloodied snow. The calm that must have engulfed the world before the atomic power destroyed it all.

From her position, she didn’t perceive what flared his anger. It must have been something imperceptible, a subtle gesture, or maybe a word at the worst possible moment. Perhaps it hasn’t been anything and the monster just needed someone to make the recipient of his cruelty. Whatever it was, it had been enough to anger the Legate, who grabbed one of the legionaries by the neck and threw him to the ground. No one did anything to stop him. In a solemn silence, they just stared at the grotesque spectacle. Vultures circled on top of them, anticipating what was about to happen.

The animals must have known that wherever this man was, they would always have food.

As for her, the young ranger held her breath as she saw how Malpais Legate took his pistol out and grabbed it by the barrel. Horrified, she flinched when he hit that man’s cranium with the butt end of the gun. The macabre show lasted for longer than it should, the blows falling over the body on the ground, even when the legionary’s leg had long stopped twitching. That night, she didn’t sleep, every time she closed her eyes she saw the gruesome amalgam of blood, bone and fluids where that man’s head had once been. 

Courier Six knew that the Legate wasn’t a patient man. She didn't need to be told so. “I know that much, Malpais Legate. But don’t think that I fear you. Just give me a fucking excuse to put you down like the worthless dog you are.”

“I won’t repeat myself, so listen closely,” he advanced towards her with the intention of intimidating her. Standing her ground, Graham was now so close to her that she could touch him if she extended her arm. The only visible part of his face, his eyes, had that cold cruelty in them that she was sure had made many beg for mercy from a man who did not know the meaning of that word. “You have been kind to us, and that's the only reason as to why I allow your impertinence. But be no mistaken, if at any time you prove to be an obstacle to the safety of the good people of Zion, I myself will be the one to deal with you."

"That's if you can," out of the corner of her eye she saw his fist clench, the bandages taut against his skin. She had seen this man die twice, and yet here he was in front of her. "Don't you think that just because I'm a woman it's going to be easy for you." 

"You have been warned," Graham turned his back on her, giving her one last glance over his shoulder. "I'm not going to warn you a second time."

"Pendejo hijo de puta," her words made him halt, and for a moment, Six expected him to turn around and be truthful to his words. But to her disappointment, the man simply sighed and continued on his way back to camp. 

Mirroring that distant night, she didn't sleep. Every sound, every movement managed to put her on alert. Every shadow could hide a man unable to be killed. 

"Look at that face, ahk iss," Follows-Chalk greeted her in the morning. A low grunt was her only response as she finished her coffee. "Ha, you're lucky today. We don't have to go far, Joshua -"

At the mention of that name Six tensed so much that the already brittle mug handle broke in her hand. "Fuck!" She exclaimed as the coffee spilled over her pants. "Shit, I'll go change my pants, won't take me long."

"If you were sleeping in the camp it would be a moment," Follows-Chalk was trying to be playful, but Six's piercing gaze made him press his lips into a thin line. "Sorry."

Once Six came back she apologized to Follows-Chalk, trying to make friendly conversation until the inevitable happened - he mentioned Joshua Graham. This time, she decided to ignore him, focusing on going through the wreckage of a crashed bus, trying not to think too much about the small size of the skeletons under her feet.

"You met him before, right?" Follows-Chalk, to her disgrace, was insistent today. "When he led his master's army I mean, before he was defeated by the Sunset People."

"The Sunset People?" She asked with curiosity. Sitting on the driver's seat to wait for him to explain further, Six began to tinker with one of the compass she found.

"Yes, the tribe called Enseeyar."

"Enseeyar? En… See… Yar…" The compass in her hands was damaged, like the rest they have found, but this one was salvable. "Ah, the NCR!" She exclaimed. "I prefer being called the Sunset People if you ask me."

"Is that your tribe?" Follows-Chalk asked, surprised, leaning towards her as if they were sharing a secret. 

"Yeah, I mean, it's bigger than a tribe, but you could say so," amused by this turn in the conversation, Six decided to share some things about herself while she fixed the compass. "When my people defeated Graham's army I was there, on the first line."

"Shaiss, really?" He looked impressed, but soon his face turned to one of uncertainty. "So that's why you don't like Joshua…"

"I don't think you need to have served in the NCR army to hate him," her hand reached for the dog tags hanging from her neck - not hers, but her brother's. "But yeah, it just piles up reasons."

Instead of arguing back like she expected, Follows-Chalk lowered his gaze, lost in thought. "I can't blame you. When he was serving his master he came to Zion. I don't remember much because I was very little. He was... different. Prouder, yes, but harder, crueler, more driven. Really, I was terrified of him. We all were."

"And now you're going to tell me that he isn't the same, right?" She said, skeptical, keeping in mind the interaction with Graham the previous night. 

"When he came back, I almost didn't believe he was the same man. He was humbler. He wanted to protect, not destroy," his eyes now hid an apology behind them, as if knowing that his words would bother her. "He taught us how to hold our territory, to protect ourselves. He guided us away from Caesar, and showed us how Caesar would have destroyed us." 

“That’s so kind of him,” her voice had sarcasm, but the tiredness made her words come out softer than she intended. "Well, here it is, the compass. I think I fixed it, but you'll tell me if it stops working."

"Goot nah nish… Eh, I mean, good work there," Follows-Chalk chirped. "We should go back and give this to Joshu - The others," he corrected himself.

"Sure, let's go," and the two of them headed back to the Dead Horses' camp.

It was still early, the day bright despite the imminent clouds, but Six was more tired than she was willing to admit. She tried to distract herself for the rest of the day, helping Follows-Chalk or washing her clothes by the river. Keeping herself and her clothes clean was a way to keep her sanity and moral in check, engaging in mundane tasks to forget about the bigger picture. 

But that day she was so tired that she didn't even have strength to ignore Graham's stare, looking back at him while she tried to keep her eyes open. It was as if he was constantly challenging her, and Six was too tired to play those games. She knew how weak she must have looked at that moment, blinking slowly, fighting against the unexpected weight of her eyelids. 

Eventually, sleep found her in the middle of the camp, near the fire, just before the sunset. Embraced by the pleasant warmth of the embers and the murmur of conversation around her.

Chapter Text

"Follows-Chalk told me that you served in the NCR army. That explains your animosity towards me," Graham's voice startled her. Six had woken up before anyone else, the night still around her when she opened her eyes. She had been brushing her hair by the rivershore when the former legate approached her. “I apologize for startling you.”

“What do you want?” Six asked, not bothering to look at him. Their last interaction had given her hopes that maybe he would desist in his attempts at talking to her, but he was proving to be an stubborn man.

“He speaks highly of you,” Graham seemed to ignore her question. Being ignored in such a blatant way got to her nerves, and she twisted her face to look at him, only to discover that he had an amused glint in his gaze, accentuated by wrinkles around his eyes. "I just wanted to thank you for the work you have been doing here. And also to point out that, as you can see, no harm fell upon you by sleeping here."

Focusing her attention back to her hair, Six expected him to desist and leave her alone. But as she began to braid her hair, she realized that he was still behind her. The mere idea of having him at her back made her skin crawl. It was like hearing a rattlesnake without knowing where it was, a constant threat blind to the human eye. 

"Did you just wake up and come here to tell me that, Legate?" She asked, charging every word with contempt. 

"No, in fact I had no intention of talking to you," he stated, his words once again getting under her skin. "But the candle light caught my attention and sleeping is difficult for me. I was on my way to take a small walk up the river side. I tend to wash myself and change my bandages by the river, far from prying eyes, before I can be interrupted by someone."

The fire came to her mind. She had seen him die, consumed by flames and thrown down an abyss. That was the second time she had seen him die, for the first one she had been the executor. 

"How?" She looked again at him, not only with disgust, but with curiosity too. "I mean, how did you survive? I know what Caesar did to you. The fire and the rest."

Something in him changed. It was fleeting, something passing through his eyes, a shadow. It left as soon as it came, but she saw it, intense and asphyxiating like the desert wind. "I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me."

"What?"

"I fell down into that dark chasm, but the flame burned on and on," he kept talking despite her astonished face, telling her about how he reached New Canaan and how his people welcomed him back. "The fire that had kept me alive was love. Their love. God's love."

"Wait, wait, wait, stop right there man," Six stood up, unable to believe what she was hearing. "God's love? Are you telling me that God's love saved you?"

"It no longer surprises me to encounter skeptical people," his tone seemed tired, as if a part of him was disappointed. "I'm aware it's difficult to understand but -"

"No, I'm not skeptical," she interrupted him. "Not about God's existence I mean. What I'm skeptical about is Him saving you," for once, Graham looked like he was out of words as she spoke. "So many good people to save in this world, and He decides to save you? Why?"

It was during that conversation when she realized that despite having his face covered, Joshua Graham was an easy man to read. Everything about his body language betrayed what he was thinking. At that moment, illuminated by the dim light of a candle, Six saw how he widened his eyes, surprised, but also amused by her words. 

"If you, like me, believe that our Lord was made flesh as Jesus Christ, then you must also believe that he died to save us all," he spoke with confidence, disarming her only with words. "Even me. I believe in my heart that even though I am a sinner, I have been saved. You should believe that too."

"Whatever, yeah," she was trying to find a way to argue back, but she couldn't find anything to say. "I still think that you should be dead."

"But that, and I'm sure you can agree with me on this, it's an entirely different debate," looking at her like he was waiting for her to agree with him, Graham managed to get more on her nerves when he was friendly than when he was threatening her. "Now, if you want to do something about it, I recommend you to have the decency to wait after we secured Zion."

It took Six a few seconds to understand that he was trying to joke. "You better not lower your guard after we're done with those White Legs, Legate. I'm next in line." 

"I pray it won't come to that."

"You better pray, yes. I became a ranger at nineteen," she said with pride. "I'm nothing like those tribals."

"Neither am I," once again, Graham was matching her own arrogance with his own. 

A part of Six wanted to keep arguing with him, to fight with him even if it was just with words, but a stinging pain was beginning to pierce her brain. It was insistent, coming and going in waves. Grateful that the sun was yet to rise and taking advantage of the shroud of the night, Six gave Graham a tired look before going to gather her things. 

On her way from the Dead Horses' camp to her small settlement, Six tried to keep Graham in the corner of her eye, glancing from time to time at the course of the river, to make sure that the man was still walking in a different direction from her. Her head felt light and dispersed, an insistent pressure on one of her temples making each step more difficult than the one before. 

That was another reason as to why she wanted to be separated from the others - her headaches. Since Benny had shot her she was suffering from several ailments, the worst being her debilitating headaches. The list continued. Sometimes her vision would get blurry for several seconds, irregular sleep patterns, sensitivity to light and limited hearing in her left ear. It had been worse when she woke up from her deadly slumber, but some days were still a nightmare to her. Like being thrown into a foggy forest with a blindfold, Six sometimes felt lost and disoriented, her feet even failing her during her worst episodes. No chance for her to go back to being a ranger.

A part of her had always wanted to keep carrying on the family legacy, more so now that her brother was dead. And Benny stole that from her. 

Six's mind went back to the moment she killed him. Her body still remembered her training as a ranger, finding no major difficulties when it came to killing him during his sleep. But there was something that worried her, something troubling her heart since that night.

No matter how much she forced herself to look back at that moment, she felt no remorse. If she went back to that moment, she would kill him again. No scenario was possible for her in which she didn’t have to kill him, and she was fine with that. There was no joy in it either, for her it had been an obstacle she just removed from her life. A pebble in her road that just slipped into her boot and she had to remove it to keep going. That’s how she felt when thinking about him. That’s what worried her.

Thinking about Benny was worsening her headache, so she tried to focus on gathering her belongings. The headache had slowed her movements, making her unaware of the past of time, the first sun rays in the morning surprising her with a burning intensity. At moments like this, when she felt more weak and vulnerable, she was thankful for being alone. To be able to have a place where she could feel safe. But it was true, it would be for the best to stay with the rest, especially now that she had slept one night there among the Dead Horses - it would be improper to distrust them after that, no matter who their acting war chief was. Six was already planning to find a safe place near the camp for her in case she needed silence and darkness when the sound of footsteps behind her kicked her instincts. 

Guessing that whoever was trying to sneak up on her was just a few feet behind her, Six turned around, following her motion with a fast kick in the head. But to her surprise, not only two strong hands grabbed her leg, she was also pushed against the rocky wall. Before being pushed away, she had felt rough fingers grabbing the exposed patch of flesh between her pants and her boot. It was firm, coarse, secure in intent but not threatening. If anything, it felt bening, too kind for it to be an enemy. The entire exchange had been too gentle for it to be considered a fight, but her entire body just wanted to shove back and retaliate. 

"I simply wanted to offer you my help in getting your things to the camp. It wasn't my intention to startle you a second time," recognizing Graham's voice, Six just grunted at him. "You didn't lie when you said that you're a ranger. Those were formidable reflexes."

The sun was already rising, a thousand different colors welcoming the new day, bringing light over her improvised shelter, and Six took a moment to look at him. He had fresh bandages and a new shirt, and she couldn't help but wonder how difficult it was for him to change his bandages. Intense blue eyes were looking back at her, distracting her from everything around her, even her own situation. Between her headache and the way he was looking in her direction, several seconds passed before she realized how close they were to each other. This man had been her target once, the top priority of the Republic, but in the mundane reality of sharing space with him, close enough to smell the fresh scent that emanated from him, the only thing Six could wonder was whether he used some kind of ointment or balm to soothe his burns under the bandages.

"I don't need help," she said, taking a step back and looking around her. If she had to be honest, she had picked up too many things around the valley. "Well, I mean, I'll probably have to make two trips, but that's nothing."

"And wouldn't it be better to accept a helping hand and make only one trip?" 

"You can help me if you answer me one question," Six didn't wait for him to answer, picking up her backpack and her rifle from the ground - she was not going to let him carry her most valuable belongings. "Why are you doing this? Do you think you can convince me that you're a good man now?"

“I don’t want to convince you of anything,” from his tone alone, Six realized that he was jaded, but answered her question anyway. “My atonement is between God and me alone. Even if you don’t believe me, my intentions are nothing but hospitable. Whether I like it or not, I’m responsible for the safety of the people in Zion, and that includes you.”

“Yeah, sure, whether you like it or not,” she mocked him back. “I bet being in power again gets you all hot and bothered, right?” His gaze was warning her to shut up, piercing and sharp like an obsidian arrowhead, able to make even the strongest of men to tremble under his burning eyes. Six, however, was not a woman easily intimidated, and his attempts at threatening her only made her angrier. Leaving what she was carrying on the ground, she moved even closer to him, not breaking eye contact. “How long until you start to bash skulls with the butt of your gun? Or maybe you’ll make your own harem, how many -”

“I’m warning you, my patience is running out,” his voice was cutting through her words, all his body language threatening her, from the step he took forward to his shoulders tensing up. "I advise you to shut up if you're not going to back up your words with deeds."

Her instincts told her that she was cornered - at her back the rocky wall, and in front of her a man whom even death avoided. For a moment the memory of kneeling in front of her own grave came to her mind, her pulse racing as if she was back to that terrible night, even if the scenery in front of her was drastically different. His white bandages seemed to be highlighted by the sun showing behind the mountains, golden beams that enveloped the world in their cosmic candor, the sunlight crowning the man standing a few feet from her, a world too wonderful to exist at the same space and time as the monster she was facing. A man who shouldn't be breathing and walking was now threatening her, and she had resolved that she should get rid of him right at that moment when he predicted her intentions.

Everything happened too fast. Before she could understand how it happened, Graham managed to twist her arm being her back and pin her against the wall. His grasp was firm but without harming her. The former legate had her immobilized, pressing his body against hers to stop her from escaping his hold. 

"Don't make me kill you," he said, rough and threatening, his voice powerful like a rising thunderstorm. 

Her answer was to fight harder, making him press her further against the wall. His breathing was troubling, close enough that she could feel his bandaged face against the side of her head. Six had little room to move between the wall and the sturdy body trapping her, his much larger frame overpowering hers, his experience eclipsing her skills. Wriggling her hips in an attempt to create some space for her to move only got her even more immobilized, and his free hand pinned her other one beside her head, rough fingers trapping her wrist as if it was just a mere tree branch. His weight was pressed against her, using his pelvis to keep her in place as he whispered again, now closer to her ear.

“Are you going to behave?” Graham’s voice sent an electric wave all along her spine, making her confused for a few seconds. A confusion she blamed on her splitting headache.

“Fuck you,” she spat out, moving her head forward to propel herself and headbutt him. 

By his displeased grunt and his grip losing strength, Six knew that she managed to hurt him. Fast but not fast enough, the young woman freed herself from him, only to end up face down on the ground moments later. Before she could turn around or crawl away, she felt Graham’s weight over her, trapping her between his legs while his arms began to circle her head. Trying to stop herself from panicking, Six was expecting him to either tighten his chokehold or break her neck, but instead he kept her in submission. She couldn’t remove his arms from her neck, nor get from beneath him. It was humiliating, but her only option was for her to wait for him to either release her or kill her.

Being able only to look ahead of her, with his strong arm locking her head and his weight pressed against her back, keeping her anchored to the ground, Six felt that an eternity had passed for her, his agitated breathing on top of her even more disturbing than the situation she was in. Her hands moved to grab his forearm, the muscle hard and tense under her fingers, an immovable object keeping her in place. 

“Joshua!” She heard Follows-Chalk’s voice followed by the sound of his footsteps running towards them. The boy kept yelling words in his tribal dialect, but Six was able to discern that he had repeated the former legate’s name, as well as her own.

Graham said something back at him in the same dialect, calm and composed, finally letting go of her. Once his arm moved away, Six was able to move, but Graham kept himself over her, only allowing her to twist beneath him with fury, kept in place between his legs. The first thing that caught her attention about the figure towering her were the red spots that had bloomed on the bandages covering his face. It stained the surface corresponding to his nose and mouth, a crimson contrast with the clean white of his bandages and the infinite blue of his eyes. To her surprise, he didn't seem angry nor disgusted at her, but rather mildly annoyed, looking down at her with condescension, as if she was just a pesky bug that had been bothering him. Before allowing her to stand up, his hand reached for her face, his fingers grabbing her jaw as he leaned forward to speak into her ear, so Follows-Chalk won't hear him.

"For your own good, I hope that you learned a lesson today," his voice was coarse and unforgiving like desert wind, his hand firm but gentle, as if he had been just chastating her for misbehaving instead of threatening to kill her like he had done just moments ago. The entire exchange left her astonished, unable to mutter any words, the young woman quiet as she saw Graham get up and leave without looking at her again. 

Feeling slightly dizzy, Six stood up, taking her time as she watched him disappear from her line of vision. A part of her was still surprised to be alive, that the Malpais Legate just walked away, instead of doing to her what she saw him do to that recruit. She had expected to be just one of many. Just one of the thousands killed directly or indirectly by him. 

"What happened?" Follows-Chalk asked, genuine in his concern, his worried eyes looking around them. 

"Just a misunderstanding," she didn't want to talk about Graham. Not now. "I was just going to move my stuff to the camp and well… It's nothing important."

"Do you need help?" Follows-Chalk offered, still wary about her.

"Yeah, some help wouldn't hurt," she accepted, picking up her belongings and walking side by side with Follows-Chalk. 

The rest of the day went on without any more troubles, as uneventful as it could be in the middle of a conflict zone. Six only saw Graham once before going back to explore the valley for supplies with Follows-Chalk. It was from afar, a couple of hours after their quarrel. The first thing she noticed were his fresh bandages wrapping his head, realizing that he must have had to change them a second time that morning. They exchanged a stern look before she abandoned the camp for the day. 

Going through a long abandoned ranger station, Follows-Chalk and her barely exchanged words, Six too distracted by the mental image of Graham's bloodied bandages. It bothered her that the memory of his execution never left her mind while she was searching for supplies, his burning body juxtaposed with the image of the man he was today. Black pitch and white bandages, razing fire connecting both points in time, infernal torment he managed to survive. Picking up a box of medical supplies, Six took the bandages inside and put them in her backpack, trying to dispel the former legate from her mind. She felt it was unfair towards herself for her brain to be remorseful about what happened that morning. An incessant hammering in the back of her head, telling her that she should be more civil around him, even if it was for her own survival.

Thinking about Graham all the way back to the camp, she left the supplies with Follows-Chalk once they arrived, picking the bandages she had looted and heading towards the Angel Cave. Even if she was taking her time crossing the distance up to the entrance of the cave, today her steps felt faster than she liked. More than ever, she wanted time to slow, to postpone for as long as possible interacting with that man again. But Six knew that her brain wouldn't let her alone if she didn't talk to him at least one last time. Not allowing herself to hesitate, the young woman walked inside the cave and up the way to the larger cavern, where she knew Graham was. Several members of the Dead Horses were having dinner near a central fire, who nodded at her after she pointed forward and asked if their war chief was there. She thanked them before following their lead. Taking a deep breath before taking the last turn, her hand closing around the dogtags hanging by her neck, Six finally saw him sitting alone in front of his workbench, cleaning his pistol. 

Clearing her throat to announce her presence, the man stopped what he was doing and focused his attention on her. He seemed alert, but the lack of hostility in his gaze made her relax. 

"Here, a peace offering. Sorry about this morning," she said, leaving the bandages over the closest table. 

The way he looked in her direction in silence unnerved her. She felt exposed, as if he was stripping her naked instead of watching her from afar, his eyes meeting with hers in a way that made her remember the day she had him under the scope. It was impossible for him to know that she had been one of the failed assassination attempts, but the paranoia was eating her away. Not wanting to interact more with him, she pressed her lips together and nodded, already on her motion to turn around and leave. Being in neutral terms with him was the most pragmatic solution. As much as Six wanted to leave Zion as soon as possible and head back to the Mojave, she needed to survive here first. But Graham standing up and walking towards her made her stop - her instincts told her that she shouldn't turn her back on that man. She watched him pick up the bandages, turning them in his hands before focusing his attention on her. 

"Apologies accepted, and thank you," he said, keeping his distance with her, but not without his eyes falling upon the pistol by her hip. "Both to prevent more clashes and for your own peace of mind and comfort, I decided to send you to the Sorrows' camp. Daniel needs as much help as we do, and your skills would certainly be welcomed there. I can assure you that he will help you get back to the Mojave as soon as our conflict is resolved."

"Thanks," Six pursed her lips and moved her mouth side to side a few times, something she always did when weighing her next words. "Aren't you afraid I'll get in trouble with your friend Daniel?"

"No, I'm sure you won't cause him any problems," Six was about to reply to those words, but his tired sigh told her that he had more to say. "And before you say anything, it's not because I think you would be unable to fight him. In fact, in my short experience dealing with you, I believe you'll be more than capable of getting him into serious trouble. But no. What I'm referring to is that I don't think you are that kind of person."

"What kind of person?"

"The kind that harms innocents," Graham declared, taking Six by surprise. "That wouldn't quite match the principles for which the rangers stand for."

"I wasn't thinking about hurting this Daniel guy, no," Six moved her mouth from side to side again. "But I shouldn't be looking to pick up a fight with sinners either. Sorry about that," pointing at his face, she knew that it wasn't what really angered him. "And about what I said too I guess…”

For an instant, Six thought that Graham was going to call out her dishonesty, but instead he just frowned at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll pray it doesn’t come down to that again,” Six felt exposed as he narrowed his eyes. “What was your name?”

“Sophia,” she decided to tell him her name. Another token of peace on her part.

“Just Sophia?”

“Yeah, just Sophia,” she scratched her forearm, more uncomfortable making small talk with him than fighting him, but also glad that her name alone didn’t ring any bells for him. “I prefer Six, though…” She added, although she had the impression that he was just going to use her birth name by now on. “Well, I should get going. Night.”

“Wait, before you leave I wanted to clarify something,” Six tensed at those words, taking a step back as she saw him taking a step forward. It was humiliating, but their quarrel that morning was proof enough that she wouldn’t be able to win in a fight face to face. “Today I didn’t immobilize you because I’m stronger than you, but rather because you tell yourself.”

“What?” 

“I knew what you wanted to do and how you were planning to jump on me even before you made further movements,” he explained. “I have no doubts that you are quite fearsome in close combat, but it’s obvious that you either lack the experience or that you have not been training recently.”

“I don’t lack experience, I have been fighting my whole life,” she was offended, getting ready to prove to him that he should be careful with her. She had made him bleed after all. “I can prove it to you at any time.”

“See? You’re doing it again,” Graham pointed out. “It’s quite evident that you want first to hit me with your left fist, just below the ribs. And then you would probably use your knee to hit my chin while my body tries to recover from the impact upon my liver. Perhaps, if you see a right angle, you would try to hit me near my ear instead, in the hopes that you would damage my balance. Am I wrong?”

Stunned, Six was unable to stop her mouth and eyes from opening wide in astonishment. “Cómo diablos…  I mean, how? How did you know all that?”

“A trained eye and years of experience,” his eyes wrinkled, and she could have sworn that he was smiling beneath the bandages. “Also, it would do you well to get rid of that arrogance.”

“Look who's talking,” she snapped back. “As if you weren’t a prideful motherfucker.”

“That’s how you know I’m speaking from experience too,” Six wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but his words managed to get a genuine laugh out of her. 

“Takes one to know one, yeah,” she said. “So… now I should really be going. Buenas noches.”

“Have a good night, Sophia,” Graham said goodbye to her, and the sound of her name coming from his lips felt strange, as if it was something that should never have existed in this world. Something that was improbable, but not impossible, like snow in summer or waking up from one's own death.

Chapter Text

With so much self-confidence that it reached an arrogance Joshua hadn't seen in years, and so bold that it bordered on mindless bravado, Courier Six had proven to be both the help he so much prayed Heavenly Father for, and the obstacle he also feared would obstruct his plans. To begin with, she didn’t trust him, even if her contempt had diminished in the past few days. But her dedication to help others and fight was something he couldn’t argue against. 

Today was the day she was going to the Sorrows' camp, and both him and Follows-Chalk were going with her. Joshua had to speak with Daniel about the situation in Zion, and Follows-Chalk was going to act as a neutral force between Joshua and that woman. Since their last dispute, Sophia had been cordial with him, but her attitude was still aloof and distant. She always insisted on doing everything by herself, especially if it involved avoiding him. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, would always follow Joshua when they were both in camp. There was something off about her, something that told him the young woman was hiding something.

As he watched her pick up her belongings and say goodbye to the Dead Horses, Joshua tried to study her face, trying to picture her among the people he knew. More specifically, among the most prominent rangers during his time in the Legion, but it was to no avail. She was a complete stranger to him. Certainly, she had to be fairly young when he tried to take Hoover Dam, so recently incorporated into the rangers that she still flew under the Legion's radar. But she was still young, younger than he expected in fact, for a woman who was present during the first battle of Hoover Dam. Sophia had told him that she was nineteen when she became a ranger, and her skills backed her words. The problem was her inconsistency. Joshua had seen it for himself, and Follows-Chalk corroborated his suspicions - the woman was a great shooter and knew how to fight, planning ahead like one would expect from a ranger. But sometimes her movements would be weird and erratic, her balance failing her and forcing her to reposition herself. It wasn’t that obvious to the untrained eye, but Joshua was able to catch her mannerisms fast. 

Sophia had now her eyes fixed on him, scowling at him, though he knew her attitude towards him was more relaxed now than it had been at the beginning. He had done his best at being patient and turning the other cheek even when she tried to antagonize him, but they both were aware that the sooner she left Zion, the better. She didn’t want to be there, with him, and he didn’t want her to cause any more conflict. Although he could not deny it, a part of him was excited about dealing with a ranger on a daily basis - his interactions with them had always been brutal and short-lived.

“Are we all ready?” Joshua asked her and Follows-Chalk, knowing that they were both ready. “We should be moving now, lest we want to waste an extra night exposed.”

“Sure I am,” Follows-Chalk said, turning to Sophia, who had not stopped looking at Joshua since he approached them. It gave him a better chance at looking at her face, studying her light-brown skin and high cheekbones, with no results in recognising her. Which was for the best - no good would come from her meeting with his former self. "And you, Six?" The boy asked her.

"Yeah, let's get going," she said, giving Joshua one last look from head to toes. Although the hostility in her gaze had diminished, her hazel eyes still held a glint of defiance. 

It was still early in the day, and Joshua hoped for the journey to be uneventful. They would have to sleep one night in the middle of the road, but he had already planned for that. Today they will march up to an old ranger station, pass the night there and then resume their journey early in the morning. If everything went as planned, they would find no major obstacles, and their scouts had not spotted any White Legs recently. 

Joshua was marching behind them, letting Follows-Chalk take the lead as he made conversation with the young woman. They seemed to get along well, the boy asking Sophia questions about her life back in the Mojave and the NCR. For what he knew so far, the woman had been born and raised south of Boneyard, the same town Edward came from. He was curious what they would say about Caesar in his hometown, but Joshua knew it was unlikely she would want to talk to him about such matters. Maybe Caesar wasn’t talked about at all, a subject source of shame and grief, like he had been for New Canaan.

Walking through a narrow path between the rocky formations, listening to friendly conversation and facing no imminent threat beyond the wild animals populating the valley made him remember his youth. When he had yet to stray from God's grace and the world was something new and terrifying. It was strange to think that there was a point in his life when he felt fear. 

In particular, he was thinking about his first interactions with Caesar, when he was just a young man named Edward Sallow with ambitions bigger than himself. Before contacting the Blackfoots they had traded with a caravaner and her family. Her husband and brother-in-law were acting as guards, and the eldest daughter of the family, a girl only a year or two younger than Joshua, was looking at them with interest. He was just eighteen back then, just starting his mission, and this was one of his first interactions outside his community. 

While Bill talked with the woman, Joshua had stood back, hoping they wouldn't need him to translate. Overall, he enjoyed working with Followers of the Apocalypse, but Edward in particular had been a torment for him. Bill had been acting as a safeguard for Joshua, but he couldn’t be behind him all the time to prevent the other from mocking him and harassing him.

“How I hate you, pretty boy,” Edward said behind his back. Joshua turned his face, watching him get closer until the follower stood by his side, passing an arm around his shoulders and dragging him closer. “You can’t be so insecure when you are built like that, I mean, look at you… And look at that face.”

“I’m not insecure, Edward,” Joshua protested, dreading the smell of tobacco coming from Edward’s mouth, “but Bill doesn’t need me to translate now.”

“Then what are you doing that you’re not talking to that girl, eh?” Edward leaned closer to him, as if he didn’t want anyone to listen to them. “I promise you, just a bit of effort and you’ll be tapping that ass tonight.”

“I can’t -”

“You couldn't if you had this mug,” Edward interrupted him, pointing at himself. “But you? If I had your face, I would be unstoppable.”

“If you had my face someone would have broken it by now,” Joshua replied back, feeling relief at the sight of Bill saying goodbye to the caravaners. 

“Look at him! His learning,” Edward laughed, slapping his shoulder with camaraderie. “Now for real, go, take your shot, she’s a pretty girl. What are you waiting for?”

She was indeed. Joshua remembered her dark-blonde hair and wide, brown eyes, a timid expression on her face as she waited for her mother to finish her business. He had felt himself blushing when looking at her, the impulse of walking up to her and saying something growing stronger as Edward encouraged him. It had been one of the first times he had wanted so much to talk to a girl, but both his own insecurities and his upbringing prevented him from saying anything that day. It wasn’t right, and at the time, Joshua still had the idea in his mind that he would come back and marry a New Canaanite woman one day. He would never see that girl again, fortunately for her, but he would think about her often, wondering if she remembered him, or if she never paid attention to him that day. If she had ever realized who she had crossed paths with at the foot of the Grand Canyon. He would remember her face more clearly than those of the countless women who would come after her. Women he had laid with without a shadow of remorse, for he was already too far gone by then.

“She is, but I can’t,” Joshua said, still looking at her. “I’m not allowed.”

“Now you’re shitting me,” Edward turned to face him, both his hands over his shoulders, positioning himself in front of Joshua, looking at him with a mixture of mockery and astonishment. "I can understand no smoking and no drinking. No coffee is ridiculous but fine, whatever. Now, no fucking? Are you for real?"

At that moment, Joshua felt mortified. He wanted nothing more than to turn back and never stop walking until he reached New Canaan - it wouldn't be until many years later, under vastly different circumstances, when he would walk through the Grand Canyon again, back home. Of course Joshua had never interacted with any girl before he left for his mission. To be honest, he never really interacted with anyone unless he was approached first. Taking the initiative was something his younger self never felt able to do. 

“Hey Bill,” Edward shouted, still holding Joshua close to him, “can you believe it?”

“I don’t even care, Ed,” Bill seemed tired of dealing with Edward. “Can’t you leave him alone?”

“But this is different,” Edward said as if he was talking about something of extreme importance. “Listen, we need to help him wet his sausage so he can return home as a man. Tell me Joshua, you can trust me, what do you like? Maybe you prefer boys, eh?”

“You’re insufferable, Ed, I swear,” Bill took out a pack of cigarettes and gave one to Edward, which allowed Joshua to free himself from his grasp. “New Canaanites wait until they are married to engage in sexual activities, right?” He looked at Joshua, who nodded. “You knew our translator was going to be Mormon, how couldn’t you even bother to learn a bit about them? You’re the worst fucking anthropoligist ever.”

“And you’re stuck with me on this expedition, Billy, what does that say about you?” Edward seemed offended by Bill’s words, already showing intentions of going alone for a walk. “Shit, I know stuff, more than you think. I know they can ask their god for forgiveness, so I don’t know why he can’t have some fun. He has freedom here, and I like him, alright? I just want him to enjoy life a bit.”

“That’s not how it works…” Joshua tried to explain himself, but Edward, even many years later, always managed to overshadow anything he wanted to say just with his mere presence. 

“I don’t have time to understand how it works,” Edward said, turning his back on them. “We should get moving already, or we will never talk with those savages.”

“You see, Joshua, I wouldn’t blame you if you smacked him one day,” Bill said, raising his voice loud enough for Edward to hear him. “Nobody can stand him back in California either.”

The only answer Edward gave them as he walked ahead of them was to flip his middle finger in the air, above his head, without bothering to turn to look at them. Back then Joshua had no idea how many times he would be marching behind that man, following him wherever he wanted to go. Letting him lead his life, even if the final destination was the very gates of hell. And today, following Follows-Chalk and Courier Six, Joshua felt as if he was once again walking towards a destination he could not yet foresee. Whether it was, the path he was walking was one led by a mysterious woman, who marched in front of him. A woman who hated him and that may one day kill him. 

Though he had to admit, she was a far more pleasant silhouette to follow than Edward had ever been.

The wind swayed her dark hair, strands that had broken free of her braid and danced in the breeze stole his attention. Her steps ahead of him were steady as she followed Follows-Chalk, the sound of their conversation pleasant as they moved forward. Joshua had decided to remain silent, listening to the stories from the Mojave until a change in Sophia's posture caught his attention. Her firm gait had turned hesitant for an instant, her right knee bending more than it should before she reached out to lean on an old branch. From the dryness of it, Joshua knew it would break under the pressure and reacted accordingly. He reached for her, grabbing her from behind as the wood collapsed and fell down to the river. 

The surprise of the exchange made her stumble backwards, falling against his chest. The unexpectedness and bluntness of the impact made him hiss between his teeth, pain coiling in his chest as she moved away from him.

"Sophia, are you alright?" Joshua asked, worrying about her so he could forget about his own pain. 

"Yeah, I am," she answered, narrowing her eyes at him. "You?"

"I have faced worse," the pain was still clouding his mind, but he was getting used to it. With time, he had learnt that as long as it wasn't close to fatal, pain was just pain. Something that existed on its own, instead of the preface to something worse. It was a way to rationalize it, to make it more bearable. 

"Hey back there," Follows-Chalk exclaimed, walking up to them with a worried expression, probably thinking that they got into an argument again. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Sophia gave Joshua a side glance, moving her lips side to side before walking ahead of him, "Graham here just thought I needed his help."

Joshua exhaled as he followed their lead. That woman was certainly difficult to deal with, at least for him. Not only Follows-Chalk held her in high regard, the rest of the Dead Horses did too, even if many were unable to speak with her due to the language barrier. But when it came down to his persona, she felt nothing but contempt, to the point that he was sure that she would try to kill him before leaving Zion. It was inevitable that they would end up at each other's throats sooner or later, and because of that, Joshua had resolved that it was for the best to not bother with her more than necessary. In a couple of days she will become Daniel’s problem, and Joshua only hoped for her to not cause more turmoil once the conflict with he White Legs was resolved.

After that problem was dealt with, he was more than excited to see how far she was willing to go to take him down, even though he was not fond of the idea of harming a young woman like her, ranger or not.

The path widened in front of them as he was lost thinking about the imminent future and the troubled memories of the distant past, and Joshua knew that they were close to the ranger station by the landmarks. They just had to reach the course of the river and follow it until the next ravine.

"What I don't understand," Follows-Chalk was trying to get as many answers about the Mojave and the NCR from her as possible, and even if she seemed to avoid certain topics, she was willing to humor him, "is how can big civilized tribes fight over something as small as a dam…"

"Well, Hoover dam is bigger than some of these mountains," Sophia said, pointing in front of them so Follows-Chalk could get an idea. "But you'd be surprised what civilized tribes will fight over."

"Now you sound like Joshua," the boy pointed out, his face immediately turning from amusement to one of regret after the courier's eyes narrowed. 

Turning her face away from the boy to give him a side look, Joshua noticed how the sun was caught in the dark night of her hair, loose strands framing her sharp features. Under the daylight her hazel eyes seemed more green than brown, still fierce and wary when looking at him. She seemed to want to say something, but her expression changed as she reached for her pistol.

"Watch out!" She yelled, shooting just a few inches away from his face, just above his left shoulder. 

Peace came crumbling down around them as a group of White Legs ambushed them. The young woman was aiming at another target behind Joshua, while Follows-Chalk used his war club to hit a White Leg warrior before he had the chance to hit him with a hatchet.

"Get behind me," Joshua commanded, shooting down two other White Legs to clear the path ahead of them. "Now!"

Follows-Chalk followed his order without hesitation, but Sophia stood by his side, pistol in hand and aiming at a mongrel before it could come any closer. The woman had the intent of fighting with him, but Joshua didn't want them to risk themselves for nothing - he was more than able to deal with a few tribals.

"Go back with Follows-Chalk and reach the ranger station," Joshua told her. 

"What if they're waiting for us ahead?" She replied back. "It's better to not split. I have you covered," Sophia kept shooting, her shoulder brushing him as she moved to hit another target. 

They were outnumbered, several warriors and their dogs surrounding them. The sound of war cries and growls echoed off the rock walls, gunfire hissing dangerously close to them. Joshua knew what the White Legs were doing; they wanted to round them up and terrorize them before finishing them off. "Sophia, listen to me!" 

Before he could keep arguing with her, the disgruntled wails of Follows-Chalk behind them caught his attention. A mongrel had bitten his leg, making him fall to the ground. The animal was gnawing at his calf, tearing his flesh with ferocity. Joshua kicked the mongrel and aimed for the head, kneeling in front of the boy.

"Can you stand?" He asked him, the only response he got was a desperate shake of his head. Follows-Chalk was grabbing his wounded leg, his face twisted by the pain. "Cover us and follow me!" Joshua commanded Sophia as he picked up Follows-Chalk and hoisted him over his shoulder. He was applying more pressure on his skin than he should, but they had to get out of there as soon as possible. 

Trying to move as fast as he could with Follows-Chalk over his shoulder, he thanked God for the courier while he watched her take down their enemies as they tried to reach the course of the river. It wasn't the easiest option, but the river would eventually lead them to the ranger station, and walking up the course through the water would cause the pursuers to lose their trail. The boy grunted, asking Joshua in his tongue to leave him on the ground, to which he refused. If they reached the ranger station, they would be safe. The young woman was now using a battle rifle to take down the White Legs instead of her usual pistol, showing flawless control of this weapon too.

"Shit!" He heard Sophia cursing in a mixture of English and Spanish behind him. "We have to take cover, I need to reload!"

"Take my gun," Joshua used his free hand to take his pistol from its holster and handed it to her. "We can't stop now."

Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the incessant burning pain in his shoulder that now was spreading down his spine, eyes watering as he held Follows-Chalk tighter. More gunshots told him that Sophia was making good use of his pistol. Stepping into the river, Joshua prayed that they wouldn't encounter more enemies ahead. Tensing his jaw, Joshua kept walking through the river, hoping to keep listening to the courier steps behind him - she had stopped shooting, the sound of gunshots no longer ricocheting through the rocky walls. Her troubled breathing and Follows-Chalk groans the only sounds that mattered to him at the moment. 

“We’re almost there,” Joshua said, now walking towards the riverbank. 

“Put me down Joshua, I think I can walk,” Follows-Chalk insisted.

“No, we don’t know the damage you endured,” he argued back, “better be safe. Don’t make the injury worse than it may be,” the boy moved as a protest, but without the intention of freeing from his grasp.

“It’s over there?” Sophia asked, pointing ahead of them, towards the closer ridge.

“Yes,” Joshua looked at her. Her face and hair were covered by blood and dirt, her clothes wet and scrapped. Probably she was injured too, but it didn’t seem serious enough to slow her. That or the adrenaline rush was keeping her going. “Are you injured?”

“No, this is nothing,” the young woman walked ahead of them, giving one last look behind them to ensure that no one was following them. “It’s here, right?” 

Joshua nodded, feeling sore and tired from carrying Follows-Chalk over his shoulder against the current of the river. But he wasn't going to let him go until he was sure that they could lower their guard. The boy was now leaning against him, unable to place the injured leg on the ground. Standing in front of the ranger station, they were just waiting for her to get inside the building to ensure that no one was waiting for them inside. As he looked at Follows-Chalk, Joshua couldn't stop thinking about how the White Legs were bold enough to venture deep into the valley to ambush them. Not them, me, he corrected himself. Caesar wasn't going to rest until he got rid of him - another way in which his past kept punishing him. After everything that happened, all the innocents that suffered because of him, whether it was by his own hand or through indirect action, he was now trying to prevent more destruction from happening because of him. Eradicating the White Legs from Zion was the top priority, he just had to make Daniel see the light.

"The coast is clear," Sophia came from inside the ranger station. "There's a couch just near the entrance, I think Follows-Chalk would be fine there. I spread my coat out on the couch to make it more comfortable."

"Thank you," Joshua carried him inside, helping him sit down and making him rest his injured leg on the coffee table. The place looked as if frozen in time, no single person had walked among these walls in two hundred years. A part of him was even surprised that the White Legs hadn't looted the place yet, but it was good news; either they didn't dare to venture so deep into the valley, or they didn't know where the station was. Taking a look around him to distract himself from his aching shoulder, Joshua was hit by the unmistakable smell of musty air, dust and humidity that had claimed the building. For their own safety, they should open the windows and allow the place to breathe. Giving Follows-Chalk a rag so he could cover his mouth and nose, he was going to tell Sophia to do the same only to realize that she had already covered her face.

"Graham," the courier called for him again, and Joshua turned around just to see that she was giving him his pistol back. Their fingers touched for a moment, and Joshua took notice of how her slender fingers slipped over the barrel of his pistol as he was taking it in his hands. "Why trust me?" 

"A matter of practicality. Both of us wanted to ensure our survival and get Follows-Chalk to a safe place," he explained, watching as she reloaded her weapons. "Where are you going?"

"To scout the surrounding area. Maybe they caught our trail again, we can't let them corner us," she holstered her pistol and walked towards the door without looking at him, mumbling something in Spanish he didn't manage to catch.

"You're not going anywhere," Joshua grabbed her by the forearm, appreciating how her frame was more sturdy than she seemed. A part of him wanted to go after the White Legs, but with his aching shoulder and Follows-Chalk wounded, it was for the best to be cautious. "It's better to spend the night here and rest."

"And what if they followed us? What if they ambush in the night?"

"Then we protect this place, but going outside at the moment is ridiculous. More so with someone injured who needs to get his wounds tended," Joshua was still holding her, aware of how her muscles and tendons tensed under his fingers. It would be easy to make her stay by force, to twist her arm like he had done before and force her into submission, but he wasn't that man anymore. He didn’t want to be. And violence didn't seem to entirely work with her anyway. Now, Joshua wasn't fond of manipulating people either, and even if he was being honest, he couldn't stop himself from feeling that he was treating her the same way Caesar treated him. "We need you,” he grimaced in disgust when he said those words, Edward’s voice coming to his mind. I need you. How simple it had been to make him fall. Only three words and he would do whatever atrocity he was told, until the initiative came alone from within. I need you. Until he wasn’t needed anymore. “Follows-Chalk will need help to walk the rest of the road to the Narrows, and someone has to cover up while the other aids him. If you go out there, alone and outnumbered in a territory you're not familiar with, chances are you will be hurt, and then we will be vulnerable."

“I can take care of myself, Legate,” she argued back, her hand reaching for his, grabbing his wrist to make him release her. “Now you better let me go.” 

Joshua was about to grab both her arms and push her against the wall, reminding her of their previous interaction. No matter how much potential she had, if that woman insisted on acting like a brat, he would treat her as one. But just like it had happened before, her composure changed in subtle ways, and Joshua kept grabbing her, not with the intention of intimidating her, but rather for her own safety. “You need rest,” he pointed out, ignoring how her hand was fighting his hold. “After Follows-Chalk is safe, you are free to go wherever you want to get killed.”

“Oh, no, Legate,” his words seemed to have ruffled her feathers, Sophia now trying to fight him. She wasn’t trying to hit him though, her attempts only aimed to free herself from his grasp, which only served for him to strengthen his hold. “You’re the only one who would end up killed, you bastard, hijo de -”

“How many times do we have to do this?” Joshua cut her words by grabbing her jaw, his patience running low as she looked at him with hate, using all his self control to be gentle with her. “Wasn’t the first time enough? Do you want more?”

“What I want is to not get killed by those bastards who ambushed us,” she protested. “This is all your fault.”

“I know,” Joshua said, and his words must have surprised her, because she stopped struggling. Her eyes now had a conflicted look in them, and her tense muscles told him that she was fighting against whatever ailment she had, instead of him. Letting go of her, Joshua tried to soften his gaze, to be understanding and forgiving. “That’s why I would like to prevent as many casualties as possible.”

"Fine," she finally admitted her defeat. With confidence and elegance, she sat down on a kitchen chair, masking her weakness with great subtlety. "But we still need to ensure that the area is secure before moving forward. You said it yourself, I don’t know the territory, we will be at a disadvantage if they’re waiting for us."

"I suggest that we pass the next morning here, to ensure that Follows-Chalk recovers. I assure you I'll scout the surroundings first hour in the morning," Joshua took out his map and expanded it over a kitchen table. "Then we should follow this road instead," he pointed at a narrow path towards the west. "It should lead us to another station where we could rest for another night, and from there we head directly to the Sorrows' camp."

"But that would be…" Follows-Chalk was about to protest, but once Joshua turned his head to look at him, something sharp and definitive in his gaze was enough to make him have second thoughts about complaining.

"Sounds reasonable," the courier agreed, still piercing him with her gaze. "Now you,” she pointed at Follows-Chalk, “stop looking at us with that frown and let’s get your wound checked.” 

Since she was going to take care of Follows-Chalk, Joshua opted to tend to his own body. He wanted to change his bandages and check his shoulder, the aching pain returning with more intensity than before. But to change his wet bandages he would need to also get into a dry pair of pants, and so we went through the station, looking for clothes until he found a pair of jeans his size and a shirt. As he was taking the clothes he watched how Sophia took care of Follows-Chalk's wound; she had cleaned his wound, first with purified water and then with rubbing alcohol. She was confident in herself, going through the motions of stitching the wound and bandaging it as if it was just routine for her. 

Or that’s how he interpreted her vacant stare. Her calmness turned again into hostility when she noticed that he had been looking at them. 

“What do you want?” Her question wasn’t one that had to be answered. It was just a more indirect way to tell him that she didn't even want him to look at her. 

It was a lost battle. No matter what he did, that woman was never going to stop being strained when being around him. If he had allowed her to stay with the Dead Horses, he was sure that sooner or later there would be a major conflict between them two. Giving her a side glance, he went to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 

It was a grim place, already conquered by some plants that had made their way through the cracks on the floor and the walls. The lightbulb was broken, as it should have been expected, but enough light from the outside entered through the cracked window, the golden light of the sunset reflecting off the few metal surfaces that had withstood with pride the inevitable passage of time. Quick in undressing, he then took his time at removing the bandages from his arms and torso, each layer of bandages felt as if he was ripping his own skin off, until he stopped at the neck. The presence of a mirror paralyzed him, the reflection looking back at him too alienating for his brain to even understand it as himself. Joshua stood still, holding his breath and not even blinking for several seconds, finding that if the reflection didn’t mimic his movements, it was easier to look at it. 

Not changing his bandages wasn’t something he ever did, unless the circumstances made it impossible, but that day he only changed them from the neck down. In such moments of weakness, Joshua even understood how easy it should be for someone like Sophia to hate him. No matter what he did, his past was written all over him. 

Once he was done with the bandages, some of his pain leaving him just by being clean and dry, he began to dress himself. As he buttoned up the clean shirt, Joshua looked down at his hands to avoid the reflection in the mirror. Except for the ring finger of his right hand, missing down to the middle knuckle, he had been lucky regarding his hands. Burned and scarred like the rest of him, many times he had thanked Heavenly Father for protecting that part of him from the flames. His hands, his eyes, his tongue, his sense of hearing. The ability to walk without a limp. Or simply, to walk. It had been as if He wanted for Joshua to amend for his sins, but not without paying in the process for them. A blessing, and a punishment. 

As much as he rejected the truth of the mirror, there was a strange pull towards that reflection. It made him wonder if he would ever forget his own face - any picture of him burned with his family home, their ashes now scattered through the ruins of New Canaan, alongside the bones of his family and the ghosts of his people. His face only survived in Legion coins, together with Edward’s and Bill’s. Sometimes he wondered why Caesar never coined a new image over the Denarii, erasing his figure, eliminating him from history in every possible way.  Maybe he had done it and it was just a matter of chance that Joshua never came across one of those coins. 

Giving one last look at the reflection and telling himself that it was trivial to waste energy in those thoughts, Joshua gathered his wet clothes and stepped outside the bathroom, only to see Sophia walking directly towards him. 

“Where are you going now?” He asked her, too tired to deal with her. 

“I also want to change my clothes,” Sophia raised the bundle she was carrying, consisting of a shirt and pants, both as black as the ranger armor. “Or did you expect me to change here?”

“Absolutely not,” Joshua ignored her annoyed grimace in favor of hanging his wet clothes next to the window. 

The sound of the door closing behind him broke the tension in the room, and Joshua turned around to look at the closed door before going to sit next to Follows-Chalk. The boy seemed fine, except for his pale face and tired expression. He would need rest, and Joshua offered to make him some food, only to discover that Sophia had already done that. It was a shame that she didn't want to cooperate with him, she would have been perfect to prepare the Dead Horses for the battle against the White Legs. God Almighty knew they needed all the help they could get if they were to defend the valley. 

Follows-Chalk was already falling asleep when Sophia walked out of the bathroom, wearing dry clothes and hanging the wet ones next to his. The shirt she was wearing was too big for her, too loose in the shoulders. From what Joshua deduced was comfort, she hadn't buttoned it all the way up, leaving her collarbones and a part of her shoulders exposed. A dark, jet-bright lock fell from her ponytail, framing her face down to her neck, and continued further down her dog-tags, losing itself in the folds of the shirt. 

His eyes followed her around the ranger station, fascinated by the way she could be so silent when walking with so much confidence. 'Quieter than a shadow and more ferocious than even a deathclaw', that's what they said about the rangers if he remembered correctly.

"You don't have to keep an eye on me, Graham," she was careful with her tone of voice when she broke the silence, "I wasn't planning on stabbing you in the back. Yet."

To keep a low tone he walked up to her, still keeping his distance. The window was between them, and Sophia was looking outside and not paying attention to him. Or pretending not to. 

"If you tell me in advance that you're going to stab me in the back, it loses the surprise factor, don't you think?" His remark gathered her attention, and she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him with a strange look on her face. 

"How about this, Legate. After all this mess is dealt with, I'll challenge you to a duel. Pistols at dawn, to death, all that," her statement surprised him, but Joshua accepted her hand when she extended it. It was firm, strong but without trying to crush his fingers in the process, a proof of respect rather than a way to threaten him. "You and I have a score to settle."

"You were the one victorious at the end of the battle of Hoover Dam, but of course, I accept the challenge," Joshua saw her smiling at him, but rather than her smile, it was the scars webbing her temple that caught his curiosity. "I heard tales about a courier who rose from her own grave and roamed the Mojave as an otherworldly gunslinger."

"And I heard legends about a vengeful spirit that walked out of his own ashes and walked the Grand Canyon looking for revenge," her tone was somehow teasing, betraying how she was still smiling as she said the words. "I guess some legends are more than that."

"I guess that's true," the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, the only light now came from the faint flame of an oil lamp. "It's getting late. I propose we take turns.”

“Sure, I’ll be -”

“I’ll be the first turn,” Joshua interrupted her, knowing that she would have wanted to be the first one. “I’ll wake you up when the time comes.”

“Fine,” her agreement was closer to a disgruntled groan than a real word, followed by some words in Spanish he opted to ignore. “Just wake me up in a couple of hours.”

And Joshua did not wake her up until the sun was already rising, staying awake all night in the sole company of his aching body and his restless demons.