[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/oYxJslA.png[/img]
[b][color=8C6868]Three Miles West of Ash Outpost Designation 227[/color][/b][/center]

It had only taken half an hour to emerge from the treeline and into the merciless brightness of open Ashland. Orion raised a hand to block the light from his eyes and squinted at the sprawling vastness before him. On the horizon to the far left, he could make out the general direction of Erubescan settled territory, marked by a halo of blueness where the air above had been purified. It must have been at least thirty miles away, but he could still imagine the rough outline of Citadel towers and spires scratching against the sky.

Directly to the West, and far closer, the ruins of a town reared up to break the monotonous grey-green flatland. From what Mitch had told him of drone feeds and security practices, outcroppings like this were the sorts of places Ashrats like to congregate. Some lived there, if they were brave, but most nomads just passed through to trade or fuck. Perhaps sometimes both. 

The thought of bounty hunters crossed his mind as well, but he shook it off. Whether or not his name and face were already plastered in the notices did not matter. Options were limited. 

He took off at a quick pace, shoulder slumped and eyes scanning like a prey animal caught in the open. 

Which he may as well have been. 

A mile out from the town, scattered, short buildings loomed up alongside him, and Orion began moving by sticking to their shadows and pressing his body against their dusty walls. 

He froze at the sound of commotion nearby: The whinny-shriek of a horse, then a crash, and the screams of a man. Orion’s thumb grazed over the surface of a polished tungsten carbide ring on his left hand, and the dark metallic finish spread over his skin like fire spreading over an oil spill. 

The sound of hoofsteps clipped nearer, and Orion braced as he anticipated the rider. Would it be a large man? Or woman? Or someone with a gift that could melt flesh? 

Orion had never killed anyone, and the thought of a fight to the death turned his stomach. Perhaps they would have no gift that could pierce him, and he could walk along unharmed, or...

The thing rounded the corner Orion was sheltering behind, massive and winged and colored like an Erubescan showbeast. It reminded him a bit of the winged horses that smaller, lighter prize fighters sometimes specialized in riding. 

He kept his voice low, and clicked his tongue. [color=8C6868]”Hey, hey,”[/color] he said softly, glancing about half to avoid eye contact and half to check for signs of a rider. Perhaps he had been the unlucky fellow who screamed but moments before. Orion held out one hand, palm flat, for the creature to sniff. His eyes trailed over the animal’s body, stopping to linger at the injured wing. [color=8C6868]”Woah, boy. Woah. Where’s your person, boy?”[/color] he asked, though he did not expect any response to come.

A horse could be useful, if not another mouth to feed. Whoever had shot him was close, but Orion had little fear of anyone using arrows. 

At the very least, he could potentially trade the animal for provisions.