3

Eunbi let out a heavy huff as Minho encouraged her to keep moving forward after her earned break she spent gnawing on a mouthful of roadside grass. The narrow dirt trail—if it could even be considered a trail—twisted ever upwards into the mountains. As a former work horse, Eunbi certainly had stamina, but that had only been tested with Minho as a single rider. She'd need a longer rest soon, or else he risked running her lame. However, the sun was setting faster than Minho had ever seen it do before, and the thought of it hitting nightfall in this forest without a camp established made him anxious. He had to keep pushing on.

It got cold in these mountains without the warmth of day to keep the chill off, and the stranger passed out against his chest wasn’t exactly dressed for Montana weather. He’d hauled him all this way: It’d be a shame if he died of hypothermia before Minho had a chance to thank him or figure out what the hell he knew about everything that had gone down on that train.

Trusting Eunbi to lead them to water, Minho loosened his grip on the reins. He peeled off his gloves and pressed a bare palm to the sheer sleeve covering the stranger's arm and grimaced at his icy skin. Reaching behind the saddle, he undid the pair of clasps that kept his canvas bedroll secured. He unraveled this the best he could while on a horse in motion, then wrapped it around the shoulders of the stranger. It draped awkwardly, but it was better than nothing. He adjusted his jacket so it covered the hands still tied around his waist, then carried on.

He smelt nice, Minho thought when the wind rustled up something perfumey out of his hair. It reminded him of home, of Korea, of his mother and the chrysanthemums she grew in her garden. It was a bittersweet memory, and Minho rubbed his nose to cast it away.

He heard a small grunt and felt a tug at his waist as the stranger adjusted against him, finally rousing from his involuntary nap.

"Are you awake?" Minho asked softly. "Careful, you're backwards on a—oof!"

The stranger's forehead smashed into Minho's nose, and he clutched his hands to his face in anguish. Blood pooled over his fingers. Before he had a chance to react or ask what the was going on, one hand gripped the collar of his shirt and the other his belt buckle. With the same unexpected strength he used to choke out that Dragon on the train, the stranger wrapped his legs around Minho's waist and somehow threw him off the saddle with his lower body. The air was punched out of his lungs when his back crashed hard onto the dirt ground, and he lay there with a heaving chest as he struggled to get his breath back.

"Go, you stupid animal! Start! Run! Go!" the stranger yelled in frustration. "How do you drive this ing thing? Come on!"

Minho let out a grunt as he propped himself up on his elbows to see the stranger—who was now facing the correct way in the saddle—uselessly waving the reins around and kicking his feet in the stirrups. Eunbi, a loyal creature, gave Minho a quick glance and then moved only the distance necessary to grab a mouthful of particularly lush grass.

Minho spit a mouthful of blood into the dirt then wiped his injured nose on his sleeve. He got to his feet, brushed the grime off his pants, then reached inside his jacket to put a hand on his pistol.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" he said. 

"Don't come any closer!" the stranger responded, distressed. He patted down his clothing and, coming up with nothing, tugged one of his shoes off into his hand. He wielded this as a weapon, holding it aloft over his head, primed to launch it at Minho any moment.

Minho let out a small laugh and pulled his gun out of its holster. Holding it at his side in plain view, not aimed at the stranger, he ordered in a low steady voice, "Get off my ing horse. I should have left you on that goddamn train."

"Yeah, maybe you should've!" the stranger yelled back. "Instead, you kidnap me, tie me up, and now I'm in the middle of nowhere—"

"K—kidnap you?" stammered Minho, taken aback by the creative cursing. "I saved your life! If you stayed on that train you'd've been killed or arrested or burnt to a crisp!"

"I can handle myself!" said the stranger. "You saw it. I can do more with my two hands than you can with that little toy of yours, and—and I didn't ask to be saved. I was doing just fine until you came along and blew up that ing—"

"We didn't blow it up! It was the gang that the bastard you killed was a part of: The Red Dragons. Last thing we wanted was to make noise like that. It's not how we operate."

The stranger let out a snort. "Who's 'we'? You and this horse?"

Minho rolled his eyes and holstered his gun. This stranger had nothing to give him but insults, and it's clear he knew jack about why the Dragons were on that train. He didn't drag him all this way to be berated, and he'd given what he owed,