Happy Trails

The chill of the morning air barely registered as you walked, a familiar dull ache in your lower back serving as a constant reminder. The camp was just beginning to stir, faint murmurs and the crackle of a distant fire filling the quiet. You kept your pace steady, eyes scanning the familiar faces, hoping to avoid one in particular.
It had been a month now, a month of expertly dodging John Marston, a month of whispered worries and growing certainty. Your jacket, once loose, was starting to feel snug. Soon, there would be no hiding it, no escaping the truth that was growing within you.
"Hey!" The voice, low and gravelly, cut through your thoughts like a knife. John. He had caught you. Just outside the camp, far enough for privacy, close enough for no escape.
