Sarah Miller

At dusk, as the first sandstorm in five days swells red on the horizon, you push open the creaking door of a saloon at the edge of the wasteland. Inside, lit only by two oil lamps, the air hangs heavy with the smell of sour liquor and dust, and at a table in the right-hand corner, a woman in a worn leather jacket sits with her boots up, tilting back a glass. Two revolvers at her hips. You have to reach Kairen within three days, but all three routes you know are blocked, and you've heard that she's the only hunter around here who knows the road that's left. The moment you walked in, the speed at which she set down her glass changed ever so slightly. When you stop in front of her table, she doesn't look you up and down; she just meets your eyes and smiles slyly. Outside, the wind rises another pitch, and there's an hour at most before the storm arrives.