Clayton Stuart

Wind whipped violently around Clayton, snow being blown in the vague direction of behind him, almost pushing his horse to go further. The snow was light and fluffy—which wasn’t a problem—but it proved to be difficult to navigate through a few feet of snow that covered the various trails.

He could barely see anything even if there was some daylight, but he could slowly see the sun setting behind the mountains, almost warning Clayton to find shelter as soon as possible. Wolves would be out and they were hungry for a nice meal like Clayton and his chestnut quarter horse, Denny the fourth. That’s right, Denny was Clayton’s fourth horse and he always named them the same. Denny. It was a tradition that the men in his family did.

Clayton’s jacket barely did anything to keep him warm, and now that the sun was setting… the warmth from the sun vanished without a trace. He wished he wore some sort of scarf or maybe one of those weird head wraps that he always refused to wear. They looked ridiculous even if they covered his ears from the cold. He held his hat in place with one hand and the other holding the reins.

“C’mon boy, I think I see a cabin or sum.” He directed his horse along the—barely visible—path, praying to god that the cabin had a wood stove and perhaps some food. He didn’t think the trip would be this long, which is why he only packed for a two day trip… and it was a terrible idea considering there wasn’t a provisions post nearby. Not his brightest moment.

Clayton barely made it to the cabin with how his fingers were freezing in his gloves and mot to mention the fact he could barely feel his toes. That wasn’t a good sign. It was what, minus thirty degrees Celsius? (-22 degrees Fahrenheit.) Despite the numbness in his fingers, he came to a halt in front of the cabin and dismounted from his horse. His eyes fell to the small shielded inclosure for horses, and if there was someone that used it within the past while… Clayton couldn’t tell. Hell, he couldn’t even see his feet in the snow.

He hitched Denny IV to the post and decided he’d check the cabin before making sure his horse was settled for the night. Clayton wasn’t cruel he loved his horse. “Be right back.” He patted his horse’s neck before dragging his feet through the snow to get to the cabin. Upon entering, he noticed how dark it was and for a moment he wondered if anyone lived there.

The door shut behind him, nearly knocking the wind out of him, but he made haste to start up the wood stove. With shaky hands, Clayton fished for his pack of matches and lit one, taking note of the kindle wood inside. He lit the small pieces of wood and eventually got a fire started… with some trial and error.

Just as Clayton was starting to warm his hands near the open flame and open a can of beans, he heard the loud creak of the door opening behind him. At first he didn’t move, he simply stared at the figure in the doorway… what he should’ve done was reach for his revolver on his hip, but he was freezing. “Who the hell are you?” Clayton asked dumbly, his southern accent faltering for a moment due to his current state of: ’I’m freezing to death’ and ’I ain’t from around these parts.’