[DRB]: Hideout
Hello everyone.
Much appreciation to all of you for sticking with me through harrowing times. It’s been difficult to get back onto my normal writing schedule, and the only thing that’s been keeping me writing on any consistent schedule has been DRB content.
I’ve been writing stuff for Filly on a semi-regular basis but fell off the wagon of actually posting it. There are about six releases currently ready to go and now scheduled to come out these next six Fridays and unlock on the following Monday. My great hope is to restart Cardinal by the time those releases post, but we’ll have to see how things go from here.
For now, I hope you enjoy:
Dated: August 2nd, 1899 (2024)
The cabin's peace broke as Filly Maddison's tiny form burst through the door, slamming it shut behind her and putting her back to the wood-- panting, shaking, but alive and uncaptured. Her legs ached and her lungs burned, but she'd made it back to safety at long last.
She had to confirm the door was locked at least three times before she felt comfortable leaving it, one hand bracing against her waist and feeling carefully over the bandages around her torso. Pain radiated up the side of her back from her all too recent injury.
With her adrenaline faltering, Filly grimaced and hobbled over to one of the beds, beginning the tedious work of changing her bandages. She was told to keep it clean, keep it dry... hell, she'd be lucky to keep it from splitting open all over again.
What had been hours of peace and solitude had come to an abrupt end in the second she heard the white-sleeved riders call those dreaded words after her-- "Marshal's department, stop the horse!" Her blood had never turned to ice so quickly as in that moment, body moving without her input to immediately stim her horse and spur him into a gallop. Down the Heartlands, through the trees, along the riverbanks and back up into the forest until she misjudged a turn and found herself in the mud.
She'd managed to get away on foot, losing them in the low pines and thick brush, and had run all the way to the nearest hideout she knew about. Safety at last, but so much more fragile than she remembered. Not to mention anyone's guess whether or not her horse was okay.
Though she was soaked equally in rain, sweat, and mud, her jacket and shirt had managed to partially shield the bandages. It was nothing short of a miracle reaching a tentative hand to her stitches and finding that they seemed to be holding. A sigh of relief escaped her, but it bore more exhaustion than she was willing to admit.
Her eyes traced to the stack of telegrams on the bedside table as she redressed her wound-- to one on top, speckled with red stains.
I hope for your sake that you know what happens next, it read, signed by the very marshal whose blood adorned it.
Filly fumbled for a fresh dose of morphine, pausing only to hack a cough into her elbow. How long could she run, being hunted like a dog? How long until her luck ran out?
Too early to tell. Injured and alone... she cursed herself for not waiting for the rest of the group to wake up. There was safety in numbers that she couldn't deny, especially now.
All the same, the creeping knowledge plagued her that none of them, no one, could run forever-- and there was no doubt in her mind that when they did all get caught, they would be made to pay for everything they'd done.
For now, though, she did what she could. Cinched the bandage a little tighter. Eased up onto the bed and found a position that was at least somewhat comfortable. She could not cower, could not cry. Could not be a scared little girl.
Quietly, she began to count into her pillow, waiting for the painkillers to kick in.