Thorn in the West
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 5: The Weight of Dust and Shadow
The desert sun hung high over Painted Ridge, burning the sky a relentless, cloudless blue, and Mika Thorn rode with a quiet intensity that had grown sharper in the past days, her revolver gripped firmly in her right hand, her left arm still bandaged and tender, forcing her to rely entirely on her off-hand, each motion awkward but precise, every breath measured, every muscle taut with determination as she traced the tracks of the teacher—the man who had bested her once, and whose teasing, sharp-eyed humor haunted her every thought like a shadow she could not shake.
She had followed him across a dozen ridges and canyons, Emberline moving with cautious intelligence, ears flicking to the slightest sound, hooves kicking up dust that glittered like gold in the harsh sunlight, and every step brought Mika closer to the man who had taught her the bitter lesson of vulnerability, yet she refused to relent, forcing herself to balance skill, pain, and relentless focus as she rode with a stubborn intensity that left her mind almost burning with the thrill of the hunt.
And then, just as she rounded a steep bluff that overlooked a narrow canyon, he appeared—or rather, his presence became undeniable, a clever illusion of movement, light, and shadow, designed to mislead even the sharpest tracker, a decoy that made her hesitate for the tiniest heartbeat—and that hesitation was all he needed.
“Careful now,” his voice called from somewhere between rocks and sun, light and teasing, almost playful. “Your off-hand is improving ... but not fast enough, it seems.”
Mika’s fingers tightened on the revolver, eyes blazing, heart hammering, as she raised the gun and fired, but he was already moving, a blur of motion that seemed impossible for a man so composed, and in that instant, she realized too late that the path beneath her horse had been subtly altered, rocks shifted, sand loosened—an invisible snare of his design—and Emberline stumbled, hooves slipping on the loose surface, sending Mika flying forward over the horse’s neck and slamming into the jagged ground with a sickening impact.
Pain exploded through her lower back, sharp and unyielding, spreading like fire into her hips and thighs, stealing her breath and forcing her to curl into the dust, groaning, tasting iron and grit in her mouth as the world tilted and spun, the sky above a cruel, brilliant blue that mocked her misfortune.
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