text: This was my story submission for the Secret Santa story swap we ran on the community Discord server, for u/ReverendWrites ! This was a ton of fun and a great challenge, with some brilliant constraints! Rev's chosen constraints for me were: 1. Includes the phrase "Conditions are rapidly deteriorating" (or "were") 2. Someone falls in love during the story. 3. At least one character is Fae. 4. A natural disaster is happening or about to happen. 5. It's the Old West. 6. A specific plant plays some role in the story, however minor. *** Mary stumbled through the snow, her stetson-covered head bent against the biting wind and whirling ice. Old Bess complained loudly behind her, the greying mare struggling against the reins as Mary doggedly pulled her along. “Steady on, girl. We have to get home before this ungodly snowfall gets even worse!” Bess snorted and stamped her feet. “Don’t you give those eyes, you old pot of glue! Conditions are rapidly deteriorating - we have to get home and get you into the barn, or not even the coyotes will be able to find your stiff carcass until the snow melts!” Bess nickered and rolled her eyes, but pushed on. “Atta girl. We’re nearly home - well, as long as I haven’t gotten lost.” She looked around, studying the snow-laden junipers. Her familiar landmarks and the well-trodden path to her cabin was frustratingly lost to the white drifts, but she hoped she was on the right track. Thankfully, she soon found what she was looking for. In the midst of the thick pines stood two out-of-place pinyons, side-by-side. She’d planted them herself ages ago, and now they returned the favour. “See, old girl?” Told you I’d get us home safely!” Bess’s snort told Mary exactly how much faith the creature had in her. “Bah, hush.” She dragged Bess up the path and beneath the thickening boughs, breathing a sigh of relief as the winds lessened and the height of the snowdrifts shortened from her waist to her ankles. Soon after, the path opened up into her little clearing, her log cabin and Bess’s tiny barn standing strong beneath the blanket of frost. She got Old Bess into the barn with the goats and bedded her down under a thick quilt, then hurried to get indoors and out of the wind herself. Only to find a huddled shape slumped on her porch. She blinked as she looked at the small bundle, half-buried beneath snow and shivering. With some shock she realised it was a kid - a little girl, no older than six if she was a day, her dark hair frozen to her forehead and her lips nearly blue with cold. “What in tarnation- Hell’s Bells, girl, you’re frozen stiff! Let’s get you indoors.” The child barely stirred as Mary carried her inside and got her bundled up in furs near the hearth and hurried to get the fire going. The half-frozen stew that was still left in the cauldron would have to do to warm her up- There was a knock on the door. Mary’s head whipped around, staring with disbelief. Nobody could possibly be mad enough to come to visit in this weather. Am I going batty in my old age? Another knock, a precisely rhythmic *rap-tap-tap*. Mary’s eyes narrowed. She reached up and grabbed her old coach gun from atop the mantlepiece, quietly breaking it open to check the cartridges. Cold but dry. Good enough. Another knock, more insistent. *Rap-tap-tap, rap-tap-tap.* “Hold your horses, I’m coming.” She held the coach gun by her side, out of sight, and slowly cracked the door open to peer out into the cold. The man standing out there was the most handsome person she’d ever seen. His skin was so pale it was nearly the same shade as the snow around him, his uncovered hair silvery-blonde and his eyes the green of emeralds. His smile was dazzling, and he bowed with a flourish that sent his pristine, black leather coat flapping around him. Mary felt her face grow hot and her heart skip a beat. “Fair lady,” the man said, his voice ringing clear and bright like a clarion, “I beg your pardon for disturbing you - may I come in?” *Yes, you may come in and have your way with- What?* “Pardon?” Mary blinked at him, her thoughts feeling strangely fuzzy and distant. His expression didn’t change, beyond a slight twitch of his lips. “I am looking for my daughter, my lady. I believe she may have come to your cabin to shelter from the blizzard. Her mother misses her terribly, and I must bring her home. Have you perchance seen her?” *Oh yes, of course, she’s right in here- No!* She pressed herself against the door, smiling shyly at him. “I might, sir. I just might.” The man’s smile widened, another jolt of warmth and a swarm of butterflies bursting to life within Mary’s chest. “How wonderful. May I see her?” *Of course, sir-* “Please don’t let him in.” The small voice was like a bucket of ice water dunked over Mary’s head. She stiffened, hand tightening on her gun. “I don’t like him,” the girl whispered. “He’s mean.” The man’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward and grasped the doorframe, long, pointed nails clicking against the wood. “My lady, surely you would not leave me out here in the cold.” Mary shuddered, the fuzzy warmth tickling closing in again. “I am sorry, sir,” she managed. “I believe you should leave. Please let go of my door.” “I do not think I will.” He pressed in, forcing the door open inch by inch. His smile changed from friendly to cruel, his features seeming to lengthen, growing alien and twisted- Then he stopped, as the barrels of Mary’s coach gun pressed into his stomach. He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think your blunt rod will stop Robin Goodfellow, woman?” “Only long enough to pull the triggers. And a “good fellow” you ain’t.” The man sneered. “It’s Goodfellow, not-” The coach gun bucked in Mary’s arms, the thunderous noise ringing in her ears. The man stumbled back, clutching at his stomach and his eyes wide with shock. He seemed to shrink in on himself, twisting into a hairy, fuzzy-furred goblin as pale red blood welled beneath his grasping fingers. “Witch,” he gasped. “Cold iron-” “I ain’t a witch,” Mary spat. “I am a widow.” She raised the gun again. “And I have no time for smooth-talking kidnappers.” She drew back the second hammer. “Git.