The wind whistled across the grasses, lifting August's silver mane into the air and tousling it half-dry. He stood stiff, a mahogany statue with the grey of the sea at his back, and closed his eyes as his coat dripped dry and the tension melted from his muscles. His body was heavy as lead; it took all his willpower not to lay down right there in the grass. Something about the way they waved and hissed in the breeze was hypnotic, calling him to rest.

The keeper of the prairie did not keep him waiting long, thankfully, and August's eyes opened when the rumble of hooves reached his ears, which he pricked with interest. The white markings of the stranger made his eyes fly open even wider and his frame stiffen again, and for one deluded moment he thought it was Boone coming toward him. But no—it was indeed a stranger. August was safe. Well, potentially. The stranger did not move with aggression, but August had learned long ago that appearances could be deceiving.

His expression gave nothing away as he replied, his voice a low, grating rasp with a broad twang. "Right to the point, I see." He exhaled heavily, as though the question were a burden, and and cast a glance off to the side. "Well, I'll be just as frank, friend. I've travelled a long way and had some hardship, so I'm looking for a place to rest in safety. Just for a while. Maybe longer, if you'll have me. If not, I can make like a passing breeze and be on my way once I've gathered my strength. I'll give you no trouble either way."