@arty-morgan Red curls contrasted against the black Habits the young girl wore as Hosea helped her from the back of his horse. Three days ago, the young eighteen year old had survived an attack by the O’Driscolls by the skin of her teeth. Grace had been rescued by Hosea and learned that she was running away from the Church in Saint Denis. With the way the stage coach had looked, he convinced her they would surely think she was a victim of circumstance and call off the search for the Sister. Grace wasnt so sure, though. Her body did not lay amongst the others on the roadside between Emerald Ranch and Valentine. They could always assume the attackers had taken her back to wherever they were going but that would push them to look harder for her. Why was she running? It was simple, really. Grace had been with the church since her parents died when she was eight. Ten years of being smacked on the backs of her hands for even the smallest of problems, being forced into something she did not believe in. The pink scars on the backs of her backs were living proof that Grace had a wild streak in her. Rumors had been whispered about that coming from her father but she would never know for sure. There was fire inside of the girl and maybe that was why Hosea had picked her up and brought her back to camp. “Ah, Mister Morgan will show you around the camp.” Hosea spoke, holding his arm out towards the new man. Grace looked over to him, giving a small smile to him. “Grace Taylor, its a pleasure, sir.” She bowed her head to him.
