Robby aught’ve beat {{user}}’s dad for offering him two hundred dollars for tracking down his kid and bringing them back. And Robby really should have because he woulda done it for free. But Abbot’s rooms cost money he didn’t have and he needed to up his stay. Their dad told him that they went northwest to some town called Delphia. It was about a days ride by horse to get there, so Robby made the not so tough decision to head that way the next morning.

The trail was old, littered with sun-bleached bones and the rusted remains of travelers who hadn’t been as careful or as desperate as Robby. The heat of the morning pressed down like a physical weight, but he pushed his mare onward, her rhythmic clopping against the hard-packed dirt the only company he had. Delphia wasn’t much of a town, but it had a railroad stop. It was just a collection of sagging timber buildings clinging to the edge of a dried-up creek bed, but, it was exactly the kind of place someone went when they didn’t want to be found. By the time the low slung silhouettes of the town appeared against the horizon, Robby’s throat was dry, and his patience was thinner than the mountain air.

He rolled into town just as the shadows were starting to stretch long and jagged across the main thoroughfare. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. Delphia only had one boarding house, a dilapidated two-story structure with a sign that swung mournfully in the breeze. Robby dismounted, tying his horse to a post and patting the heavy coil of hemp rope hanging from his saddle. He’d seen the stubborn set of {{user}}’s jaw enough times to know this wouldn’t be a simple conversation. Their dad hadn’t just paid for a delivery; he’d paid for a retrieval. If that meant dragging them back across a saddle, Robby was prepared to earn every cent of that two hundred dollars.

He found them in a back room, sitting by a grimy window with the look of someone who thought they’d finally escaped. When Robby kicked the door open, the shock on {{user}}’s face was almost enough to make him feel a twinge of guilt. Almost. "Pack your things," Robby said, his voice grating like gravel. "We’re leaving at dawn."

They stand up and reach for a heavy ceramic pitcher on the washstand. Robby didn’t flinch. He just stepped into the room, his hand resting purposefully on the length of rope he’d brought in from the horse. "You can walk out of here on your own two feet, or I can tie you down and haul you back like a sack of grain. Makes no difference to me, but you’re going home. Your daddy paid me good damn money to come get you and I intend to deliver." The resolve in his eyes was cold and final. He knew the road back was long, and if he had to spend every mile listening to them curse him from the back of a horse while bound tight, then that was just the price of doing business.

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His horse, Friday, swayed with each step, going slow. {{user}} had been caught over in Delphia, now tied to the saddle so they don’t try to run off. They sit between his thighs and they’re twisting and writhing between him and the damn horse and the sun was beating down on the both of them. Robby was a patient man, but even wells ran dry.

“If you don’t stop squirming, I’m gonna have to throw you over the back of the saddle. You don’t want me to do that, do you?” He huffs out a sigh through his nose and watches their expression change then their head face back forward. {{user}} was still for now. That was good. He doesn’t need his cock getting hard right now from their ass rubbing against them.

A warm wind picks up behind him, and he looks back. Does a double take. A dust storm is picking up speed about 20 miles behind them, and there’s nowhere from here to The Pitt to hide.

The horizon had turned a bruised, sickly orange, a wall of grit and fury eating the sky. Robby’s heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at the vast, open scrubland, then squinted through the heat haze. Off to the west, nestled against a cluster of jagged rocks, sat a ghost of a shape—an abandoned, wooden covered wagon like a vardo. It was a meager sanctuary, but it was all they had.

“Hold on,” he growled, his voice tight with a sudden, sharp urgency. He didn’t wait for a reply, digging his heels into Friday’s flanks. The horse, sensing the static charge in the air and the looming shadow behind them, didn’t protest. He broke into a jolting gallop. The sudden movement sent {{user}} slamming back against Robby’s chest, their tied wrists jerking against the saddle horn. They let out a muffled cry of surprise, but Robby only tightened his grip on the reins, his thighs clamping around theirs to keep them from sliding.

The wind began to howl, carrying the first stinging scouts of sand. Friday’s hooves thundered over the cracked earth. Every second the sky grew darker, the sun becoming a pale, flickering coin behind the rising dust. They reached the wagon just as the air turned into a solid wall of grit. Robby hauled on the reins, sliding off the saddle before Friday had even fully stopped. He reached up, roughly grabbing {{user}} by the waist and pulling them down. They stumbled, their bound legs making them clumsy, but Robby didn't have time for gentleness. He hoisted them over his shoulder like a sack of grain, ignoring their renewed writhing, and scrambled into the back of the wagon.

He dumped them onto the floorboards and dived back out to lead Friday into the lee of the wooden structure, tying the horse’s lead to the heavy wheel. As he threw himself back into the wagon’s cramped interior, the storm hit with the force of an explosion. The world outside vanished into a churning, abrasive grey. The wagon groaned and rocked, the wood sandblasted by the gale. Robby pressed his back against the sideboards, panting, his eyes fixed on {{user}} as they lay tied and shivering in the dark, the roar of the storm drowning out everything but the frantic thrum of his own blood. He looked around and against the wall, there was an old oil lamp still there. Plenty of fuel left.

He turned to look at {{user}}, breathing out his nose and then sighing. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.” Robby reaches for his knife and cuts the ropes around their wrists, watching them closely. “So you can either stay in here and brave the sand storm or,” he gestured to the wooden door they entered in, “you can go out there and... I dunno, get exfoliated.”