Grant was through the front door like a shot, his foot nearly going straight through what remained of the unfortunate wood as he raced through it. The man all but bounded off the porch and dashed around the side of the house, skidding to a halt as he turned the corner and saw what had transpired.

Gavin stood just beside the house, stalking slowly forward with his shotgun held out in front of him, smoke still curling off the black tip of the barrel in a thin trail.

A few paces from him the midnight black splotch on the sky Grant had come to know as Silver tore up on hind legs with a whinnying cry, front hooves pawing at the air as he tossed his mighty head. A trail of ruby droplets dripped in the creature’s wake and smudged under his hooves, mixing with the dry dust to form a rusty mud when Silver slammed his paws back into the ground with another screaming cry.

The horse’s rider stood just before his steed, hauling on the thin cords of Silver’s reins in a fruitless attempt to drag the beast forward but the animal wouldn’t budge. “We gotta go!” The Kid cried sharply as if that would somehow make his horse move. “We gotta go! Please, we really gotta go!” The outlaw insisted in a shrill whisper, giving up on the reigns to fist his delicate hands in Silver’s night colored mane.

Gavin didn’t slow, stalking ever forward no matter how fast the Kid managed to scramble his reluctant beast back. The deputy brought a second hand up to pull back the bolt of the gun, yanking the thing back with the heavy metallic thunk of a new bullet sliding into place.

The Kid stared at the approaching deputy like Satan himself were riding up greet him, caramel eyes wide and desperation written into every twisted muscle of his pained face. “Please, Silver.” The boy whined dragging them back a pace but the moment the horse moved an inch it whinnied and stuttered to a halt, the dark fur of its shoulder sticky and matted with the dark stain of blood.

Gavin aimed the weapon at the outlaw, squinting his eye down the barrel of the thing as his lips twisted into a disgusted sneer.

The Kid dipped his head and pressed it into Silver’s pulling the horse forward by the mane and whispering something Grant couldn’t quite make out from where he stood. The moment Gavin fired the shot, however, the outlaw jerked to the side and dodged just moments before it would’ve been lodged in his skull. The fugitive spun on a heel and took off across the open yard like lightning, aiming for where dust gave way to woods a little past the house. His dark dust coat flying out behind him, the outlaw was swallowed by the cover of the trees in moments, disappearing into the woods like a shadow chased away by the early light of dawn.

Gavin growled in the back of his throat and stalked forward, pulling the bolt of his gun back once more just as Grant jogged up to reach him. The deputy didn’t hesitate before aiming the barrel straight at the injured horse’s forehead, staring straight into the woods as he did with an uncaring snarl twisting his features into something ugly.

Just as the deputy’s finger closed around the trigger, however, Grant grabbed the barrel of the weapon in one hand and turned it to the sky. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” The sheriff demanded, screaming to be heard over the shot exploding into the open air. The man stared at his companion incredulously, disbelief and confusion etched into every ununderstanding fiber of his being. The horse was injured, yes, but to the point that it needed to be put out of its misery? No!

Gavin wordlessly yanked his gun out of Grant’s hands, fire blazing through brown eyes as he glared at the sheriff for a moment. Long, tense silence stretched out between them until Grant was seriously starting to think Gavin was going to whip the gun up and shoot the poor creature anyway - And maybe him too while he was at it. Finally, however, the deputy turned away and stalked off the way they had come, still silent… And Grant realized none of this had anything to do with an injured horse.

After a long moment of quiet, Silver gave a disgruntled snort and stumbled clumsily to distance himself from the sheriff, drawing Grant’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Come on, boy.” The man encouraged gently, slowly reaching out to take the reins even as the horse gave a displeased whinny and leaned his great head away from the human’s reaching fingertips. Despite his wariness, the horse didn’t try to bolt and when Grant took the reins in his hand Silver followed his guilding pull.

The trip back home was long and silent, as if there were some sort of wall between Grant and the deputy. Things got no better when they made it back to town. Weeks passed, and still Grant just couldn’t seem to see Gavin the same. Every time he looked at the man all he could see was the cold, ugly sneer he’d seen painted across the deputy’s face as he prepared to pull the trigger.

At least Silver’s shoulder had healed up pretty quickly. Apparently, Gavin was not the best shot and had only really skimmed the muscle, not buried lead deep inside of it as Grant had initially feared when he’d come at the bucking stallion, tweezers in hand. The horse even seemed to have started to warm up to Grant some, or at least, didn’t prance elegantly to the other side of the fence with an indignant snort every time the sheriff drew near.

On the last day of the third week, Grant heaved a weighty heap of hay over the wooden fence of the pen beside his house and Silver didn’t go running. The horse blinked at the food, lowered his nose to the trough and snorted into it once, nostrils flaring indignantly as he raised his head back from the metal and stared expectantly at the sheriff.

“What, you’re picky now?” Grant questioned incredulously. “C’mon, it’s the same shit you eat every day!” The sheriff balked, gesturing at the food as if to prove his point. Proving his point to a silly, stubborn stallion, that’s how low he’d fallen.

“See, Nellie likes it just fine.” Grant pointed out as the horse in question walked up and buried her head in the trough without complaint, not bothering to worry herself with her rider and penmate’s petty debate. The steady mare was the only horse Grant had trusted to keep with the injured animal, knowing she wouldn’t excitedly injure his tender shoulder or go bounding around the pen to provoke him into doing something foolish. Grant got the distinct feeling Silver could be easily provoked into doing something foolish.

Silver snorted disinterestedly, turning his proud head away with a luxurious shake of his gleaming black mane.

“Maybe he named ‘ya Silver ‘cause you only accept your meals on a damn silver platter.” Grant muttered exasperatedly, tuning away from the pen to get on with his day. “Certainly had nothing to do with your shining white coat.” The man snorted, throwing his hand up exasperatedly as the absolute lunacy his life had descended into.

The moment Grant turned away, however, a sudden rush of cold air danced over his head, a brisk breeze that he certainly shouldn't be able to feel. “Son of a gun!” The sheriff spat, whipping around to find his hat plucked off his head and being absent mindedly chewed in Silver’s massive jaws. “Gimme that back, you little bastard!” The man demanded, reaching up to snag the item from the horse’s mouth but Silver pulled just out of reach, leaving Grant’s fingers to close around thin air.

“Fuck, come back here!” Grant growled, gripping the top bar of the fence and hoisting himself up as Silver went prancing lightly across the pen, prize held high and proud between his teeth. Nellie glanced up once as Grant swung his legs over the fence but went back to chewing with a tired huff of hot air.

“Sheriff.” A voice interrupted just as Grant hopped down into the pen and moved to go after the arrogant animal.

The man halted in his tracks and turned to see the same blonde girl he’d met days ago standing just outside of the fence. The woman’s blue eyes were downcast and she held her painted lip gently between her teeth as she stared at the ground between them, unwilling to glance up even as Grant pulled himself out of the horses’ pen and came to stand before her.

“You’re needed down at the jailhouse.” Is all the woman said before turning away and leaving Grant alone on the street, a sick, twisted feeling settling in his gut.

Grant’s hat found its way to his feet and the lawman didn't question such a mercy, refusing to turn around and make literal on the old adage “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” He plucked the thing up off the street and slowly made his way into town, his feet dragging on every step yet the anxious urge to run alway there sparking through him like embers flickering beside a dry hay field - Or maybe a still at this point.

The sheriff eventually came to the place he was called to and refused to let himself pause as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was through a mouthful of blood that the Kid glanced up and offered a scratchy, “Howdy, Sheriff.”