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VELVET VANES

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The night enfolded the weary travellers in her frigid embrace as Gabrielle Hopewell worked over the meagre fire, its flickering light battling the deepening dark. All around, the vast, shadowed plains slumbered beneath a tapestry of stars sharp as cut crystal, keenly reminding her smallness against the grandeur of this untamed land.

Her breath steamed upon the chill air as she stirred the evening's modest repast, coal-black skillet trembling upon three stones in mimicry of civilization's comforts. From the canvas-lined wagon huddled beside, mingled groans and coughs revealed Randall's fitful rest. Yet even pain could not diminish the knightly cast his stalwart form lent their rugged bivouac.

Gabrielle stared unseeing into the crackling fire as she listlessly stirred the pot of what may charitably pass as stew if survival depended on the deception. Back home, a veritable army of liveried chefs saw to every finicky whim, concocting gastronomic fantasies far removed from this borderline inedible slop. Now here she was, playing at pioneers like some grubby urchin stuck with chore duty. The irony wasn't lost—just like her refined sensibilities abandoning ship at the first sign of adventure's rocky shoals.

A sardonic chuckle escaped softly into the chill. If her dog-tired friends could see the famed Gabrielle Hopewell now, they'd swoon dead away at the scandal of it all. Dirty, tired while Randall expired by inches just yonder.

Not to mention the inconvenient business of having recently dispatched a man with extreme prejudice. Because really, what debs' magazine worth its crinoline would depict that scintillating twist?

Lost in the tangled briar of her thoughts, Gabrielle started at the whisper of movement as Tanner settled with grace beside the fire. He nudged her arm gruffly. "Better stir that mess afore it welds itself permanent to the pot."

Gabrielle flushed, jolted from bleak reverie, realising with dismay the neglected pot's contents grown almost black. She'd been merely clutching the ladle, stew bubbling over fiercely. Hastily she began stirring, cheeks aflame under the glow.

An awkward, daunting silence fell between the pair as she mindlessly churned the salvaged mess.

Tanner broke first, gruff yet kindly. "Ain't no shame in it, what you did. Man needed doin' and you done it, end of."

An oppressive silence descended as they watched the pot swing steadily between Gabrielle's numb hands. What words could ease such tangled hearts now? She searched Tanner's weathered face for answers, finding only shadow and care graven amidst lines weathering deeper than his years alone could claim.

Tanner cleared his throat, drawing forth a silken plume freshly plucked from Gabrielle's Gallimimus, pinching its quill delicately between calloused fingertips before placing it on her knee. "Reckon this fella must've molted some."

Gabrielle's fingers curled gently around the feather, eyes downcast. "You did much the same in Denver, as I recall—offering me a feather for good karma."

"Reckon I weren't so bold before. Didn't wanna spook ya none by pressin' too hard for forgiveness. I had no call pushin' ya so hard. And even less to lay blame for... what come after."

"You did not force my hand, Tanner."

"Ain't that simple. I pushed you hard to end that buzzard, means to break you in slow before... Then when it came to real killing, you weren't prepared. And my gab hasn't shut up since on how that's my fault."

"I would like to believe I was prepared. I acted to save your life and Randalls'. The choice was mine alone. Though it seems our notions of aiding life sometimes differ slightly. Was it wrong to save you?"

"Dammit, it's not the same! You- you tend to life, not snuff 'em out. The dinosaur back in Denver was another thing but a person?"

"Oh, so life between two different species is not equal now? I should be favouring one over the other?"

"Don't get smart on me now. It just ain't in your nature."

"No, because it was survival you were trying to teach me. In other respects, our most basic survival is to kill. Whether to eat, defend ourselves or... I fail to see your logic, Tanner. You pressed your rifle into my hands and badgered me to end the life of a dinosaur simply grazing in the field, yet when faced with taking a man's life to protect us, you name me faulty? That's hypocrisy if ever I've heard it!"

Tanner scowled, unyielding. "You're a plumb stubborn spitfire when you've a notion, ain't you?"

"I seem to recall you weren't too keen on 'gators what talk tangly'," Gabrielle retorted, mock-affronted. Her attempt at colourful insults lent Tanner a rare chuckle.

Amusement wrinkled his tanned face then. "Where'd ya hear that from? Reckon you'll get the lingo soon enough, spendin' time 'round ol' Tanner."

She sniffed, fighting a traitorous smile. "Swamp talk."

"You're mean. One o' these days, you'll be fit to slap a prize blue ribbon on me for dallyin' like this."

With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he sent another log hurtling into the hungry flames. As it crashed into the inferno, and pops erupted, the sparks leaping skyward like tiny fireflies on a mission to illuminate the darkness. It was as if they carried with them the weightless relief of a world recently ravaged, now finding its footing once more amidst the chaos of the night.

Tanner sighed, putting away his hat and raked a hand through his shaggy hair. "I know it was to save Randall. And lord knows that man's the closest thing to a living saint left in this world to you. But it still felt wrong as sin to see your delicate hands touch a firearm, much less take a life. I see that now. For that, I'm sorry."

Gabrielle lifted her chin. "That seems an untenable solution. I know I killed Josiah, I helped push the men out of a moving train, and took the life of a Carnotaurus who simply understood it was hungry itself. This is wrong."

"Ain't no good answers in this hellworld, let alone right answers. But sometimes the only way to turn tail from violence is meetin' it. Can't really get out of a violent scene without being violent yerself. As much as I'd spare you such, out here a body don't always get that choice and does what it does. All I know is is that I'm used to this- this... kinda life. Knowin' that you did what I thought I could be proud for, it just ain't right. It just ain't. While I like that you're alive, I don't want this eating ya inside."

Gabrielle pondered his words silently, seeing their hard-won wisdom. At last she nodded, a wry half-smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. "You may have just uttered the wisest sentiment I've heard these dusty lips give voice to yet, Tanner Graves."

Tanner threw back his shaggy head and guffawed, freckled face split in a broad grin. "Well slap me with a soggy biscuit, I do believe hell itself just froze over!"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes in jest. "One moment of sagacity does not a genius make. But I suppose your council was worth at least that much sugar, if we can find the means to procure it."

Despite herself, Gabrielle felt the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips in response to his infectious mirth. As serious as their discussion had been, it warmed her to see Tanner's carefree spirit untamed even in sorrow's gravest moments. His laughter, so freely given, had a way of lightening any load however heavy, and for that rarest gift, she was endlessly grateful.

As the fire popped and crackled, filling the campsite with its warmth, Gabrielle gazed pensively into the dancing flames. At length, she turned to Tanner and asked softly, "If I may inquire... How many men have lost their lives to your rifle over these long years?"

Tanner stirred the stew and poured a portion for her. Gabrielle watched steam rise from her bowl, warmth spreading through clenched fingers. Her earlier question echoed heavily in the pause between them.

At last Tanner spoke, gruff but steady. "Takin' life becomes too easy out here, after a spell. Whether man or beast comin' at me or mine with killing intent... Well, you do what ya must, and count the cost later, if you're still standing to count at all. Can't put a number on the souls I've sent to their last river crossin'. More'n I care to recount, that's plain certain."

His eyes, when they met hers, were shadowed yet unafraid. Windows to a weary spirit who'd gazed unflinching down the razored edge dividing life and death more often than any one person ought. Reaching some hidden understanding, Gabrielle dipped her head quietly over the stew's fragrant steam, thinking prolongedly on all this good man had borne alone so long upon his willing shoulders.

Gabrielle stirred the stew pensively. "Does it really ever become easier, with time?"

Tanner shook his shaggy head, lines deepening around eyes that had long since lost their capacity for horror. "I'd say that depends on the person. Took me awhile to understand. It don't get easier. It just becomes natural, like breathin'. And breathing's what keeps you alive out here as often as the pull of a trigger. But it's a constant I'd wish on no soul, least of all yers."

"Do you remember... your first?"

Tanner let out a short, bitter laugh. "Now that's a memory no man forgets, however hard he tries. I'd rather not speak more of it, if it's all the same to you. And yours, Gabrielle—it will haunt, as is only natural. But know this hunter's here any time you've a spectral to exorcise."

"Taking a life... It feels strange to me still. Frightening. I do not imagine it ever feels normal."

"Normal to some when it's necessary. Ain't normal for you, and best not become so. Means you're keepin' your humanity and that's all any of us can hope for, out here where it's easier lost than found most days."

"When it happened, I felt... frozen, afraid, yet possessed of some will not my own. Like an animal backed into a corner. You see, when that vile Josiah shot Randall, I picked up his revolver and fired at Josiah until it was empty. I do not truly recall the action. It was as though I watched from outside, yet somehow was also the one acting. To feel that... rush, that raw need for violence—it frightens me, to think such a feat lurks beneath my gentle ways. Am I truly so fragile, that the sight of a friend wounded could prompt such unthinking fury?"

Tanner shifted uncomfortably, prodding the fire with a stick. "Best not dwell on in. Just eat your stew 'fore it gets cold."

Gabrielle frowned, pushing the uneaten stew away. "How can I not? That moment feels stained upon my soul."

"Ain't nothing stains what's in here." He tapped her chest gently. "You did what ya had to in the heat of it. That's all any can ask. All I hope is you never find cause to draw iron again. Your hands were made for coaxing life, not endin' it, no matter the reason."

The night's chill had drawn in close as Gabrielle doled stew into battered wood bowls by the flickering fire. Randall received his portion with a grateful nod, withdrawing into the shadows to eat and muse as was his frequent way. Beside him loomed the outlaw Tanner had brought into their camp, bandaged where lacerations had felled him days prior. Sour distrust yet marked his severe features, though a glint of reluctant respect lingered when his gaze fell upon the pistol-wielding dinoboy who had bested him.

Gabrielle paid the ruffian small heed, her thoughts inward-turned as she saw to their steady hunter next. Tanner accepted bowl and thanks with gruff ease, ever ensuring his charges wanted for naught amid the wilderness' caprice. And watching their protectors break fast as one with this rough bounty, Gabrielle felt the first stirrings of calm reclaim a spirit plunged too deep in darkness' depths of late.

Pinpricks of firelight glinted in his eyes as if illuminating some private hell lurking just beyond sight's boundaries. Gabrielle felt a chill despite the flames, sensing the weight of ghosts clinging yet to this man who walked where angels feared.

She studied Tanner's craggy visage, scrying there a history writ large in sun-weathered lines no man his years ought carry. She remembered well his facile draw, lead finding home with deadly precision no amount of practice yards could match. This was a man long at home amongst violence; one who had gazed down death's barrel more times than most see in a score of lifetimes. What horrors had those steady hands known, to find solace now in forces that took life rather than preserved their own?

Yet for all his reckless flourish against foes, gentler hands tucked her into the wagon that fateful day. And sharper than any blade shewn had been the flint-hard edge of guilt-haunted eyes pleading forgiveness now with a penitent's humble fervour. Beneath the brash swagger lurked a soul scarred by trials she could scarce fathom; driven to save her against all cost, then shoulder blame beyond reason's pale.

Scars knotted cheek and jaw in pale ravines where perils untold had raked him, relics of fights fought tooth and nail for life itself amidst lawlessness' law. His lean frame spoke alike of nature's rigour and privation, hardened muscle and sinew toiled over long miles and labour with only grit and wile to still keep the wolves from the door. And in his callused hands, scarred and stained, roamed an intimacy with firearms, a tool and partner as familiar as breathing in his world where life dangled ever by a thread.

Gabrielle rolled the silken plume gently between her fingers, tracing each downy barb as delicate as a bird's first wing. So easily such beauty was plucked away, yet within its velvet vanes dwelled the strength and swiftness serving survival on the unforgiving plains. Each barb seemed etched with memories not her own, as though this slight token could whisper of lands where such wonders still roamed free if man left space enough in heart and home.