... that had been following his path for the past days. He remembered glancing over the town as he waited, listening to the wind whistling through the streets and blowing sand around, as he looked over everything from the buildings with their faded paint, to the silent grey gelding that had been tied to the front of the town's bar. He could remember when his glancing eye was caught by the solitary form of the broken wagon; it's rotted spines crippled by the neglect of it's abandonment, and it's decaying flaps of material slapping against itself in the harsh blow of the wind. He could see as finally, just after the sun reached it's peak in the sky, the men he had been patiently waiting for finally arrived. Both with their weathered faces, wrinkled and creased from age and life. Their hard eyes squinting against the sun as their dirt ...

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