It was a blistering day, to no surprise. Dakota reached a gloved hand over her drenched head, repositioned her Stetson, and wiped the drops of sweat clinging to her brow with the back of her hand. It had been a hard ride since she left town a couple of weeks ago. Since then it was camping by cliff sides, hunting for game (mainly hares) with her bow, and riding, riding, riding. She didn't mind it too much, though. Luna was a good, sturdy mare, and never faltered over even the most precarious rocks. Dakota reached down by her right leg, where there hung two deer-skin canteens. They made a hollow sound as they bounced together, and before she even raised the canteen up to her lips, she knew it was empty. "All my eye," she muttered, shaking her head. "Luna, you been snippin' my Adam's ale? Darned horse, you." The mare gave a snort beneath her. "'Course it wasn't you, 'course it wasn't." Dakota suddenly pulled on the reins, halting the horse. She peered into the distance, where she sighted the faint outline of a cottage. Then she dug her spurs into the sides of the beast, leading her onwards toward the house. "Maybe we kin fill up there," she inquired.
