A campfire crackles in the center of it all, sending sparks spiraling up into a bruised purple sky.

Around the fire, the gang has settled into the quiet rhythm of early evening. A woman with sharp eyes and a ginger plait hums low under her breath as she cleans a revolver. A stout man in an apron stirs a pot hung over the flames. Near the tree line, a younger man with a knife and a piece of wood is carving something slow and careful.

A tent flap rustles to your left. A woman steps out—dark hair pinned up, a fine wool shawl pulled tight around her shoulders despite the warmth of the fire. She doesn't look at anyone, just walks past the group with her jaw set and disappears toward the horses.