Logan wasnāt exactly what you would call a horse person. Ā Sure, they were useful, and riding was much faster- not to mention generally easier- than walking, but being tied to one naked was not encouraging any love for the beasts. Ā
Heād been stuck on the horse for the better part of the day. Ā His balls were chafed, he was sunburned pretty much all over, and he was thoroughly humiliated and fuming. Ā Sure. Ā Maybe heād been a little hard on Billy, but this was fucking ridiculous. Ā The man had snapped, that much was for sure. Ā All over some stupid fucking robot. Clearly the manās distinction between reality and fantasy had been completely obliterated. Ā
Hearing footsteps in the distance, Logan lifted his head, making out a lone figure riding towards him in the fading daylight. Ā Fucking great. Ā He couldnāt figure out if he was more relieved at finally running into someone who might cut the ropes and let him off the horse, or embarrassed at the fact heād been found in such a condition. Ā
At least it wasnāt one of the Ghost Nation. Ā That was probably the only stroke of luck heād had all day.
As the rider neared, Logan could make out that the man was the Sheriff of Sweetwater. Ā The question of what the man was doing this far away from town however, didnāt cross his mind. Ā
āGet me off this fucking nag.ā Ā His voice was cracked, a result of a parched mouth, and he lifted his hands slightly, showing that he was bound to the horn of the saddle. Ā āDonāt fucking ask, just get me off this fucking thing.ā