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Outside, Mandy the red stallion is waiting, her hooves paw the dirt as Kathryn mounts her first. Blake climbs up behind her afterwards, arms instinctively wrapping around her waist. She doesn't comment — but she doesn't pull away either.
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They kick off into a gallop, wind tearing through the trees as they head toward Rose’s hut.
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Blake’s bandaged neck bobs awkwardly with each stride, but he's smiling like a clown. Kathryn notices.
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Kathryn:
“You look ridiculous.”
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Blake:
“I’m just… glad you’re here.”
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She smirks.
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Blake:
“So… what made you decide to join us?”
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Kathryn:
“Oh, that?
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‘Rose.’
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‘She was eyeballing me”
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(scoffs)
“I don’t want her man…’
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(a beat)
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‘I’m here for the cause.”
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Blake blinks, horrified and confused.
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Kathryn:
“And you look like you need help. So I figured I’d stick around… see where this train leads.”
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Blake’s face softens.
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Blake:
“Still, I’m really happy you’re here.”
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She smirks again, leaning back just enough to bump his chest.
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Kathryn:
“I know you are. I’m not stupid.”
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Blake:
“Oh— I wasn’t implying—”
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Kathryn:
“Shut up.”
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Blake shuts his mouth but he smiles the whole way to Rose’s hut.
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The sun hangs warm and golden over the rolling grasslands surrounding Lilly’s hut, the tall blades sway like a green ocean stirred by a gentle breeze.
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Bucks and a family of deer can be seen hopping through and over the fields. The air smells of earth, hay, and the faint sweetness of early spring flowers.
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It's a beautiful day — painfully beautiful — the kind that makes the urgency in everyone’s footsteps feel even sharper.
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Every person moves with purpose, boots thudding through the grass, arms full, breath quick. There's no panic… just the quiet, heavy knowledge that they'll have to leave soon, like urgently.
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Paul is focused, jaw tight, eyes scanning everything.
He moves like a man who has rebuilt his life twice already and refuses to lose it a third time.
He checks straps, reins, knots — then checks them again.
He doesn’t speak much, but his presence steadies the group.
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Lilly is determined, fierce, and exhausted beneath it all.
Her hair is tied back, sleeves rolled up, hands moving fast as she loads Angelo her brownish donkey.
She mutters to herself, counting supplies, correcting herself, starting over. Her eyes are red from lack of sleep, but her spirit is iron.
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Rose is quiet, alert, carrying more weight in her expression than in her arms.
She keeps glancing toward the road Metro disappeared down, but she forces herself to stay present. She helps Lilly, tie knots, lift sacks — anything to keep her hands busy.
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Ana is calm but worried.
She moves with practiced grace, placing herbs, jars, and cloth bundles exactly where they need to go. She keeps touching her heart and neck, whispering under her breath.
She watches Rose closely, protective.
Strawhat is sweaty, grinning, working hard.
He’s all muscle today, hauling crates and barrels into the wagon.
His new straw hat bobs with every step.
He tries to lighten the mood with jokes, but his eyes betray the fear he’s trying to hide.
Strawhat’s Wife is efficient and sharp.
She’s the one organizing the wagon’s interior, making sure nothing shifts or breaks.
She has a motherly sternness, snapping at Strawhat when he lifts wrong or stacks something crooked. But she also hums softly — a nervous habit.
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Angelo the donkey stands patiently like a true worker.
Lilly loads him with sacks, blankets, jars, and tools. His ears flick lazily, but he doesn’t complain.
He can carry more weight than any of the horses, and everyone knows it.
Curtis, Rose’s brown horse with the white patch over his eye, stomps the ground, sensing the tension.
She brushes him slowly, whispering to him.
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Stone is Paul’s white horse.
Strong, steady, already saddled.
He watches Paul like he’s waiting for orders. Steve is the second white horse from Paul's old stable. He’s restless, snorting, tugging at his reins. Blake usually calms him, but Blake isn’t here — and Steve knows it.
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The Mule.
Strawhat’s stubborn, powerful mule.
Yoked to the large wagon with the white sheet cover. He stands like a boulder, unmoving, unimpressed by the chaos around him. The wagon is the heart of the operation — the mobile lifeline.
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Inside and tied along the sides are:
Thick blankets, Straw bundles, Firewood handles- Flint & steel, Matches, Oil jars for lamps, Socks, Mittens, Scarves, Oats for the horses, Jugs of seeds, Fruits, Vegetables, Herbs and Spices ,Water jugs, Heavy wood poles, Rope (thick and thin), Hammers and nails, Whetstone Hatchets, Scrap scrolls, Charcoal, Herb boxes, Cooking utensils, Pans and pots, Extra boots, Belts, Cloth wraps, A small crate of medical herbs from Ana, A rolled tarp, A spare saddle, A dozen fishing poles, A bundle of fire-starter seeds, A bundle of tinder, A wrapped loaf of bread Lilly insisted on bringing, A small wooden box Paul keeps close — maps and notes.
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Everything is packed tight, tied down, and double-checked.
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The beauty of the day feels cruel.
The grasslands glow, the sky is clear, the breeze is soft — and yet every person knows they’re preparing for something dangerous, something uncertain.
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They’re almost ready to depart.
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Almost.
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Paul and Lilly lift their heads from Angelo’s frame, hands still tightening straps and clinching bundles. The clearing around Rose and Lilly’s hut buzzes with urgency — animals shifting, wagon creaking, blankets being folded, metal clinking.
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Hoofbeats cut through the noise.
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and then Add to home screen.