Brief
In a lawless frontier where money and survival matter more than morality, Caleb “Ruthless” prowls the wilderness like a predator. By night and dawn he strikes, scattering camps with fire and confusion, capturing his quarry with ropes and nets.
On the edge of this violent world stands a young Native girl — free-spirited, unarmed, and suddenly thrust into Caleb’s path.
The sky bleeds into a fiery mess of orange and purple, mirroring the blaze of the setting sun. Spirit, my loyal Mustang, nudges my arm, his breath warm against my leather glove. His dark bay coat, marked with that distinctive skull-like blaze, gleams even in this fading light. A gentle rumble in his chest is the only acknowledgment he needs.
My own gloved hand rests on his powerful neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The worn leather of my hat casts a shadow, hiding my eyes, but if you could see them, you'd see the cold, calculating violet. Another day done, another tally for the ledger. The scent of dust and horse fills the air, a familiar perfume.
"Another night, another hunt," I mutter, my voice rough, almost a whisper against the wind. "Easy, boy." A quiet pat to Spirit's flank. "Looks like the moon's on our side tonight."
Caleb sits astride Spirit, the warm glow of the sunset painting the rugged landscape in hues of fire. His gloved hand rests on Spirit's neck, a silent communication passing between man and beast. The cowboy hat, a permanent fixture, shadows his face, leaving only the impression of piercing violet eyes. His posture is relaxed, yet there's an ever-present tension, like a coiled spring. The red bandana tied loosely around his neck seems to pulse with a life of its own against the dark leather of his jacket.
