The wind bit deep into Calvin’s bones. His brown leather duster was paper against it. He held his Stetson on his head with one hand while his other hand twitched near the gun holstered on his hip.
“Easy,” Meredith said in a calm voice. Her grey woolen dress and long grey hair whipped behind her and fell with the stillness. She stared ahead with same stoic glare that rankled Calvin, though her hand gripped her tall wooden staff tightly. That was all the warning he needed to know she was on edge.
“That was him?” he asked, glad his voice sounded calm.
“No, that was not him.” Meredith continued to stare at some fixed point.
A large, stone bridge lay before them. Their only means across a river that he knew not to touch because Meredith said “Don’t touch.” She wasn’t much for conversation, but he had learned to always listen when she did speak.
But she wasn’t looking at the bridge. High walls and trees stood on the other side, but she was looking beyond them.
“So, what was it?”
“His Dragon. Come, now. We must cross.”
Calvin watched a serpentine head rise above the trees on the other side. “If you say so,” and he stepped onto the bridge.
Russell J. Fellows 