He had been holed up for so long---almost nine days. He had been given so little food and water that now, after drinking so much more than he'd been allowed the past eight days, he felt ill. The climb up the hill was a hard one on his sleep, food, water-deprived body, his stomach muscles contracting dangerously, and as he collapsed onto his knees beside a dark horse who he was almost expecting to have glowing red eyes, Andrew doubled over and emptied his stomach of the water he'd swallowed just a few minutes ago. He shuddered, crawling around the disgusting puddle and grabbing a handful of green grass. It was just a bit in the scattered, arid land, but he crammed it into his mouth to get the sour taste out, chewing and spitting it to the ground when it grew dry.

The horse was regarding him carefully, as if sizing him up. Andrew knew he was thin and willowy, short too, with delicate features reminiscent of a woman. It was why the men holding him had liked him. Liked him enough to use him, just not to help him, or even believe that he wasn't a horse thief. Besides, what harm was it to act out one's awful thoughts and violent tendencies on someone that couldn't fight back, and justify their abuses as deserving every raised hand, pistol butt to the head, horsewhip to the back? If the horse so wanted, he could raise a hoof and crush Andrew with very little effort.

Hoofbeats fell on his ears, and Andrew whipped his head around, making his way to his bare feet and stumbling against the solid black horse. There was his outlaw savior, and his White Tide. Beautiful white skin and almost silvery mane he brushed every day, sometimes multiple times a day because she seemed to enjoy it so much. He didn't hesitate---Andrew stepped forward, hugging White Tide's slender neck and using her mane to haul himself up onto her back. She didn't have a saddle, a lead, bit, or even a towel. Andrew didn't need any of that. He directed her with a hand on either side of the neck, a gentle kick to the flank when she needed to go faster. This time his kick was a little harder, but it was only to convince her to break into a full gallop to follow the stranger on the black one. Every fall of his behind on her back, however, had him crying out, his eyes streaming, but fear for his life pushing him to keep pace with this man and his horse.