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Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
and every demon wants his pound of flesh but i like to keep some things to myself
The dogs saw him first. Their chorus split the quiet, paws kicking up powder as they bounded the fence-line, white breath puffing from dark muzzles. Damien slowed at the wide gate, the Deadiron brand seared bold into its timbers, and let them make their noise. Snow clung to his boots in crusted layers, the long road behind him written in every ragged edge of frost on his coat.
Beyond the gate, the ranch stretched broad and working even under winter’s hold. Smoke curled from somewhere, steady and blue against the pale sky. Horses stamped in the paddocks, their coats grown thick and shaggy, steam rising from their backs. The air smelled of hay and hide and woodsmoke, sharp and alive in the cold.
Damien hitched the strap of his pack higher on his shoulder, the weight of coin pressing solid against his spine. Most of it was bound tight in leather pouches, tucked beneath a false layer of furs and dried meat. A smaller purse rested against his hip, close enough for his hand to guard it. He’d carried plenty through Halo’s wilds, but gold had a way of turning men worse than hunger ever did.
He planted his boots in the snow just shy of the gate, breath fogging slow and even. “Colt Winchester!” he called loud and clear, his voice carrying steady across the snowy yard.
Got a head full of noise About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid I got a mind in the gutter Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
The dogs serve as a nice doorbell for whoever's close enough to hear it, but it's not in anyone's habit to drop their work and play at butler. Damien's arrival earns a few raised heads, but it's not until he's hollering her name and making his business known that a ranch hand bothers to direct him. The younger guy's passing by on a blue roan unicorn filly, all dark in the winter, and he yells out to Damien and points, telling him to head to the arena.
There, where the rodeo had run in the warmer season, Damien will find Colt with a different host of doorknocker dogs and some hands. They're running cattle through a chute, a maze of panels winding through the arena to make a side of sorted cattle in three groups. Colt's on the ground with some of the others, while a few are on horseback, pushing cattle as needed. Her hair's braided beneath her pale hat, less to do with weather and more to keep it out of any cow shit. A tan jacket's zipped up to her neck against the season's chill, a black puffy vest on over it. Her jeans are stiff in the cold, though the thick leather chaps help. Boots are buried in the slush—a mixture of manure, mud, and snow at this point. Breath puffs out in conversation, and her hands are on her hips as she nods every so often towards a man at her side.
The dogs jump up when Damien makes it over, causing her gaze to flick over her shoulder towards him. It takes a moment for her scowl to clear, nothing intentional, just the slant of thought and work. She recognizes him after a beat though, and the warmth of her hospitality surges in with a smile and a wave. "Damien!" she shouts over the way, enough of a greeting to call the hackle-raised dogs off his side, though one trails behind him with a low huff of a bark every so often. The men all take him in after a look but resume the motions of sorting cattle.
Got the wind in my hair I got nowhere to go so I'm already there Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
10-01-2025, 10:02 AM (This post was last modified: 10-01-2025, 10:03 AM by Damien.)
Damien
and every demon wants his pound of flesh but i like to keep some things to myself
Damien followed the hand’s point, boots crunching through snow and slush until the arena opened ahead of him. It was a whole different noise than the dogs—lowing cattle, the rattle of panels, men on horseback calling across to one another. He slowed to take it in, leaning his weight a moment on the fence while his eyes worked the scene. Horses moving sharp and sure in the cold, cattle bunching and flowing like water through the chute, and Colt in the middle of it all, her voice cutting through the press like she’d been born to it.
The dogs met him before she did. They swarmed his boots and trousers, noses busy, teeth flashing now and again in half-hearted warning. Damien kept still until the worst of it passed, shoulders hitching in silent thanks when Colt’s shout pulled them off. All but one. That one stuck to his heel, throwing up the occasional huff like it had been put on personal duty. He glanced down at it, the corner of his mouth twitching. Better this than Aria tagging along—his cub would’ve turned the whole place into a circus, and Colt’s patience with him was thin enough without that.
He came up to the fence but didn’t climb it, resting his forearms across the top bar instead. The metal was cold through his sleeves, biting through the worn cloth, but he didn’t mind. It gave him the right vantage, a man looking in rather than barging through.
He tipped his head up in greeting when Colt's voice carried his name across. The cattle pushed through the chute beyond her, hooves thudding in rhythm, dogs darting to snap at stragglers. “Quite the operation you’ve got.” His breath puffed white over the words. His gaze flicked over the panels and the split herds, then back to her with a small, curious tilt of his brow. “What’s all this for?”
He didn’t ask it to fill the air—he wanted to know. Places like this weren’t common in Halo, and ever since his trip to the Celestine in Stormbreak, the thought of land full of animals kept creeping back into his head. He wasn’t fool enough to think he knew the first thing about running something like that, but still, watching the work in motion, he let himself wonder what it might be like.
10-02-2025, 02:59 AM (This post was last modified: 10-02-2025, 02:59 AM by Colt.)
COLT
Got a head full of noise About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid I got a mind in the gutter Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
Colt can always appreciate someone who works hard, especially when they keep their head down while doing it. That Damien's smart enough to keep back a tick earns him greater favor than whatever his kitten's antics lost. She already knows he's capable of hand, but it's a rare thing to find someone who uses their head just as well. Maybe he had his moments yet.
With one last exchange to the man at her side Colt breaks away to the outer fence the Halovian lingers on, arms fisting into her jacket with a certain kind of relief. At Damien's question she glances back over her shoulder, seeming to see the whole ordeal for it's entirety for the first time. "Vaccinations for the herd," she says with a wag of her elbow towards the chute. The metal frame only lets one animal through at a time, and the men working it descend quick and sure on each new arrival to dose them. "Then sorting out the heifers from the cows, and who's pregnant and who's not. All need to stay in different pastures and get different food amounts." She nods towards the three makeshift pens where the chute-released animal gets sent into depending on which it is.
Her attention swings back in full to him, a bit of a wild grin creeping in even with all the wear of the day and the cold. "Most don't care—you looking to have a go at cowboying?" The glint in her gaze suggests she's not above turning anyone into a ranch hand for a day, might even look forward to watching a greenhorn in fact.
Got the wind in my hair I got nowhere to go so I'm already there Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
and every demon wants his pound of flesh but i like to keep some things to myself
Damien listened close while she laid it out, his dark eyes following the chute as another beast pressed through. Men closed in, quick and efficient, the animal out the other side before it even knew what had happened. He gave a small grunt, not of dismissal but of respect, the corner of his mouth tugging wry at the explanation. “Huh. Makes sense. Better than chasing down whatever wanders through Halo’s treeline. Easier on the teeth, too.”
It wasn’t envy in his tone, but a kind of quiet admiration. He’d lived his life on what the wild gave up, and it was [mostly] enough. But seeing the order of it all—the smoke, the pens, the dogs and riders corralling stragglers—it stirred something steady in him. Halo didn’t have the weather for this sort of operation. Not unless someone bred stock as stubborn as the tundra itself.
Her grin drew his own, fainter but just as real. He tipped his head, like he’d give it a thought. “Wouldn’t say no to cowboying, for a bit,” he admitted, the word feeling foreign on his tongue but for that he was no less eager to give it a whirl. “Think I could test out one of the horses while I'm at it?”
A hand dropped to the strap of his pack, the weight pressing solid down his spine, a reminder that business came first. “Oh, and your payment's all here. Plus a bit of an advance, if you're alright with boarding them.” His gaze cut back to her, steady as the cold. Though he didn't lay it all out here and now, giving Colt the say in where she wanted it unloaded. It was, indeed, his weight in coin (and a few other valuables; little gems or jewelry items which carried their own inherent trade value).
Got a head full of noise About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid I got a mind in the gutter Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
Her eyes trace the growth of appreciation in his face, the sentiment returned as her lips quirk up higher, tilting more onto one side with her typical crooked kind of smile. "Don't get me wrong, I love some luxere or ramphire same as the next, and I appreciate what the hunters and trappers do to supply it. I'd just rather raise my burgers than track 'em down." She laughs faintly, a hand waving away the comparison before sliding back into her pocket. There's benefits and struggles to each industry, this just happens to be the one she knows best, the one she loves.
It's not often she meets a man willing to just try at something. Usually they're protective of their ego and find a way to diminish the work or deny it outright. He's not only curious though, but willing, and that's the sort of spirit she can understand. "Now, then?" she wonders, a touch surprised, her smile faltering into a bit of an open mouthed wonder as she blinks across at him through the fence. She thumps a hand onto the rail, a solid sound of approval, before she slips between the bars and joins him on the other side. "Well shit, can't say no to that, let's make an honest hand out of you today Damien."
She doesn't answer his question about the horses, not audibly, just keeps walking past him after one long glance and a motion to follow. "You can lay it by the stall," she informs him, able to eyeball that he's got enough on him and see the weight of it in the way his footprints sit heavier in the slush. She has no intention of carrying it the distance when he's already decked out with it. "You can keep 'em here, that's no problem," she says with a puff of visible breath, strides eating up the ground and working up heat to battle the chill.
The main stable is closer to the front, most doors battened down against the wind and the cold this time of year. Stepping inside, the smell of straw and alfalfa greets them, and a few hopeful noses poke over their gates with a low nicker. There's enough passerby that can be swindled out of treats to make it a habit worth doing regardless of who steps into the barn. "There," she says, motioning towards a pair of stalls towards the back right. "The dapple grey's a mare by the name of Blueberry, she's about five. The liver chestnut gelding is Spud, he's seven."
Got the wind in my hair I got nowhere to go so I'm already there Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
10-10-2025, 06:54 PM (This post was last modified: 10-10-2025, 06:54 PM by Damien.)
Damien
and every demon wants his pound of flesh but i like to keep some things to myself
He couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out at her “raise my burgers” line. Short, rough sound, cut off almost as soon as it started. “Can’t argue with that,” he said, mouth quirking. “At least yours don’t try to gore you before dinner.” His eyes flicked and brows quirked up, though, as if to silently ask 'right?'
When she thumped the rail and slid through the bars, he straightened instinctively, following her with the unspoken understanding that this wasn’t a woman who liked to repeat herself. Her approval—if that’s what that sound had been—sat warm in his chest. He shifted his pack and fell into step behind her, boots crunching through slush in time with the jangle of the nearby chute.
The wind bit less inside the stable, but the air was thick with the smell of hay, horse, and oil. He took a slow breath, letting it settle in his lungs like someone taking stock of something worth remembering. The sound of hooves shifted through the stalls—restless, steady, alive. It was strangely comforting. But, he knew he'd do well to remember these were big animals they were dealing with.
She motioned toward the stalls and he nodded, stepping off to where she’d pointed. “Blueberry and Spud,” he repeated under his breath, like he was memorizing a pair of code words. He set the pack down near the wall with a dull thud, the coins inside muffled under the false bottom of furs and jerky. “All there,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Heavy enough to vouch for it.”
One of the horses—a big red-brown steed with an assessing eye—turned toward him. Damien met the gaze, head tilting slightly, and reached out a slow hand until the gelding’s warm breath hit his knuckles. He didn’t touch yet, just hovered there, waiting for the horse to close the distance first.
“Hard to pick between them. It's been a while since I've been in the saddle, honestly.” he said finally, his voice gone a little quieter, as if the walls had closed the world down to just the two of them and the horses. Then, with the faintest curve of a grin, “But figure I oughta cowboy up sooner rather than later. Which one would you say is the.. easier ride?”
He straightened, brushing a smear of straw from his glove, and added, “I appreciate you trusting me with your horses. I'd heard good things about them, and when I came to help with the shed it got me thinking about it more.”
The last of his breath left him in a pale plume. The air smelled like work and promise and something he couldn’t name—something that made him think maybe Halo could use a bit more of this kind of life. A realization dawned on him and he turned to Colt more directly. "So, I.. didn't have the foresight (or muscle, truth be told) to bring a saddle," he rubbed the back of his neck and offered an apologetic smile. "Mind if I borrow one?"
Got a head full of noise About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid I got a mind in the gutter Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
Her smile is easy to come by when she's in the mood, because as rough and serious as life can be, Colt firmly believes in enjoying all it has to offer too. Maybe she's not the find the silver lining sort, a cloud's just a cloud in the end, but she can enjoy rainy days and sunny ones all the same, with or without clouds and whatever colors their edges might be. Appreciating her work is one easy way to guarantee her sunshine, as long as she's not already in a storm, or the pleasantry is so obviously fake she'll keep a frown on out of spite. His interest seems genuine, and the work behind her is going smooth, so the upward turn of her lips has lingered. "Not if you do it right," she corrects him with a pointed look, one that speaks to not doing dumb shit out here. This work has a way of punishing anyone who doesn't pay attention, so you either learn to listen up or you get gone with a bout of bruises, pride usually among them.
She only glances back once on their way to the barn, not about to make the trip all the way up there just for herself. It's a quick flash of her gaze past her shoulder, finding he has the sense to not only follow, but keep up. Well, best as he could manage on unfamiliar ground and with the weight of a payment owed.
A smile cracks back into place as he sets the coin down and reassures her. "Appreciate the business honey," she says with a nod, attention coasting over the sacks. She'll check it soon enough, not overly worried about having to chasing down a bad deal - it wouldn't be the first time, and she's sure it wouldn't be the last. Now that she runs the ranch instead of her father, there's been a few occassions where people think some tits make it easier to pull a fast one on her. She isn't afraid to school more than horses when the need arises.
Her 'brows rise with the question, an honest laugh startling free. She's not used to helping her orders step into the saddle. "Guess that all depends. I prefer mares, they got more heart at the end of the day in my experience, but they got more opinions too. Sometimes ya'll won't agree, and however long you've been together, she's gonna think she's right nine times outta ten. Sometimes that'll be what saves your ass." Affection bleeds into her words as her gaze travels from Damien to Blueberry, the mare having since retreated back into the stall since neither of them had anything interesting to offer her. "Plus, I'm partial to greys." She doesn't have a strict color chart ranking, and only seems to think some matter for personality, an old call back to lineage maybe, or just the way she feels when she looks at 'em. Paints and appaloosas are on the bottom of that list though, and she's got a theory that their coat color is as splotchy as their brain network.
"Geldings on the other hand...they'll listen to you, for better or worse. If you don't know what you're doing, you're gonna fuck 'em up, and you might hurt their feelings along the way. If you just wanna get on and go, you better know where or you'll both end up lost, at least until feeding time, they'll all bring you home then." Spud's head has remained out, reaching with an extension of his neck and a lip towards Damien's jacket sleeve. Overall, she shrugs, like in the end it doesn't really matter. "Then again, they're all their own beast. I've had geldings smarter than me and mares lazier than shit."
Her jaw works a bit over his last request though, a long suffering sigh whistling from her nose. "Sure, and next shall I arrange some lessons in the arena for you? Fit you for some pants and boots while we're at it?" She's already hauling open a tack room door though, stepping into it briefly before reppearing with a bridle and saddle in her arms, a blanket tossed over her shoulder. "You do know how to groom one, right?" and under her breath she mutters something about greenhorns.
Got the wind in my hair I got nowhere to go so I'm already there Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
and every demon wants his pound of flesh but i like to keep some things to myself
Damien huffed a low laugh, rubbing a hand across his jaw as Colt ribbed him about lessons and pants. “Well, if you’re offering,” he said, deadpan, though his eyes flicked toward her with that glint that could be humor or challenge depending on how you caught it. “I might skip the pants, though. Don’t wanna look too professional now.”
He turned to Spud, opening the stall and stepping lightly in the straw. The gelding watched him, ears flicking, weight shifting once before settling. Damien reached for the halter with easy patience, letting the horse see it coming, smell it, think it over. He didn’t rush it—never did with animals. They read body language better than words.
When Colt asked if he knew how to groom one, he gave her a look over his shoulder, all wry amusement. “I can at least remember enough to stay on the right end.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he lifted a brush from the shelf and ran it down Spud’s neck in long, even strokes, the sound of bristles and hide soft as breathing. “My folks had a pony when I was a kid. One of the fonder memories I have of them.”
He paused long enough for the memory to fade before he went on. “Truth is, I’ve missed riding. Plus, I wouldn't mind having them around when I've got lumber to haul or deliveries to make. Or... animals to round up. So after I wrote you about these two, I spent some more time around a few others—helping some farmers. One of em's got this red mare named Tully who’s real clever. She’ll open the gate latch with her teeth if you don’t tie it with rope. And even if you do tie it…” He gave Spud’s shoulder a fond pat. “She’ll figure it out eventually.”
He ducked to check the horse’s hooves, movements sure and deliberate, then straightened and met Colt’s eyes again. “I wouldn't get on if I didn't know how to ride. There's not a whole lot to it, I think. I was just wondering if Spud here’s got any.. quirks, habits. Some horses like to test you; others just want you to keep up.”
The gelding snorted as Damien led him from the stall over to a hitching post. “Guess I’ll find out which kind he is soon enough.” Once the horse was tied, he went to collect the saddle and bridle from Colt [or wherever she might've placed them].
Got a head full of noise About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid I got a mind in the gutter Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
There's no keeping back the dry chuckle that tumbles free in response to him, a wry glance cut his way before the tackroom fully engulfed her. Guess she shouldn't have expected to so easily shame a man, humor or otherwise in it, if he's willing to ask rather than pretend. "That's for the best, don't think ya got the hips for any of my pairs that I could loan you." The amusement of having her own bite tossed back at her remains perched in the set of her lips as she steps back out, tack in hand.
She doesn't speak at first as she goes to set all the rigging on a saddle tree near the stall he's stepped into. She's content to watch how this goes, sure it'll tell her plenty that his words otherwise wouldn't. The side of the stall takes her weight as she leans into it with an ease born of familiarity, one boot crossing over the other while her hands resume their bid for warmth in her jacket pockets. Just her 'brows bounce up, an indicator of how impressed she is that he can tell one end from the other.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she says with a wince in regards to dealing with a pony. "In that case you can probably handle the rank stud colts even." She's only half joking, his skills clearly having gone to rust, but ponies are such opinionated pricks she'd not waste her time on them anymore. Only keeps a couple, same with donkeys, to help get some manners into the babies before the men start working them. They make great babysitters and put up with less bullshit than she does, so anyone she pulls from their side is more than happy to work with her instead.
Her head tilts as he explains, and she nods along like his reasons are ones she can understand, or maybe she's just heard 'em all before. "Always good to have two latches. Never good to learn you have a Tully on your hands by coming to an empty stall time and time again and start going mad with doubt over whether you did actually latch the pen." She smirks though, clearly fond of such escape artists at heart.
There's a subtle shrug to her shoulders as Spud and Damien plod along to the ties. "Only quirk he's got is that he prefers to eat and drink out of red colored buckets. And he likes apples more than carrots. If you're on him though, he'll be good, I wouldn't sell him to ya otherwise."
Waiting for him to finish tacking up, Colt starts to move back towards the barn's entrance once they're ready. "You can help the hands push the doctored cattle in from the arena to the pastures. This group should be about done by now." She gestures towards the way they'd come. "Still using the front pastures until the ground thaws, then we got a big drive to send 'em to the back ones. Rotating lets the ground rest and reset after all their hooves and mouths, and I like 'em close when it's cold, easier to toss them feed and check for sickness that way."
Got the wind in my hair I got nowhere to go so I'm already there Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
and every demon wants his pound of flesh but i like to keep some things to myself
When Colt said she wouldn't have sold the horse to him if it wasn't a good one, Damien gave a nod. “I appreciate it,” He replied, "and I figured as much. It's why I reached out to you first. You seemed like the honest type... for better or worse." He shrugged, and gave her a small, humorous smile. "You don't put up with bullshit. I respect that."
He set to work with the saddle like a man sorting through an old memory—muscle pulling up steps his mind hadn’t had to name in years. He laid the blanket smooth across Spud’s back, then the saddle, careful to check for any folds before he cinched the strap. His movements weren’t fast, but they were deliberate, that kind of quiet precision that belongs to people who’ve worked with their hands long enough to know rushing only makes more work later.
When he tightened the girth, he did it in two passes—not yanking, but easing until it was snug. A small thing, but it spoke of someone who’d paid attention somewhere along the way. Once the bridle was in place, he checked the reins and gave the horse’s shoulder a steady pat. “Alright, Spud. Guess we’ll see what you think of me.”
Colt’s voice carried back from the aisle and he turned his head to listen, the corner of his mouth quirking at her practicality. “Pushin’ cattle. Simple enough.” He glanced at the horse as if confirming it with him. “You hear that? Pretty sure that makes you my senior on the job.”
He swung into the saddle—not graceful, but solid—and took a second to settle his balance, boots finding the stirrups, gloved fingers gathering the reins. The leather creaked, the smell of horse and oil filling his lungs again. “Lead the way,” he called to Colt, tone even, ready.
There was no bravado in him, no need to prove anything. Just the look of a man who’d decided to get his hands dirty and trusted the horse beneath him to do half the thinking.
If he felt a flicker of nerves, it didn’t show—just that sharp focus of someone who knew how easily confidence and caution could trade places out here.
Got a head full of noise About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid I got a mind in the gutter Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
"Oh I put up with plenty of bullshit," she laughs, bright and brilliant at his remark, funnier than he might realize with the drawl of his words. "Just not from anyone without four legs and horns." Her amusement bites back into a wide smile, the glitter in her eyes clear that she appreciates the praise, however crooked it'd been, and little as she'd ever say as much.
She doesn't interrupt as he goes through the motions, feigns indifference even, nails scratching at a curious nose that hangs over the stall. Both of them are judging him though—the horse in her hands over his lack of treats, and herself about his knowledge. She'd not leave him without correction if he needed it, because while entertained by a good show of someone trying to stick a bronc, she didn't want him or the horse ending up hurt, a surefire end with poorly laid tack. He passes though, and she doesn't push him to be quicker about it. He knows it, she can tell, and the speed would come with easing back into it all.
He settles in without perfection on Spud's back, but it's the willingness that matters. The rest can fall back into place with muscle and memory, so she just offers him a patient look, curiosity sparking at the edges for this man. "Don't do too good of a job or I'll be asking you to come back," she teases as she walks towards the arena where the cattle are lowing and dogs are barking. Talk and whistles rise like a murmur, and all of it folds into a tide of work that washes over the shore of this ranch, alive like any other force in the world is.
"WYATT!" she calls out after opening a panel from the rest to let Damien and Spud through. "Greenhorn on deck, make sure him and his horse come back in one piece." Her wagonboss tips his hand off his hat in greeting, motioning Damien to join his side, reining his horse around to better watch the new rider. He'll take him under his wing and into the work, and Colt says softly after him, "have fun." She resets the panel and stalks through the snowy mash back towards plans and priorities of the day's flow, richer in more ways than one.
[FIN]
Got the wind in my hair I got nowhere to go so I'm already there Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
