grateful simper tugging edges, hat settling upon cranium before accepting a glass. โcattle on the wrong end o'the fence. we got 'em all back. took a helluva time.โ
โ โ hand reaches across , accepting offering . sip taken he hums in appreciation . " never does , son . " trotting alongside , he focused on the path ahead . " never fuckin' ends , does it ? "
mounting own, monroe offers sealed cup to the patriarch. other hand tangled in reigns, an idke trot along familiar plain. โthat ain't ever meant anythin' good. s'always quiet 'fore the storm, sir.โ
โ โ adjusting his belt , he scans the land as he approached . nothing beats nights like these . reaching for the reins , john nods . " quiet night . " he offered , mounting his horse . " finally some damn peace and quiet . "