<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Dusk<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The stagecoach trail from Lost Angels to Gomorra<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Jaelyn<br/><hr/><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ab/Stagecoach.png)</div>“Might have,” growled the driver, as she stepped out, looking back towards the suitcase which half protruded from the end of the couch.  He eyes the suitcase warily, then glared over at her when she asked if he might have another axle for the carriage.  His eyes narrowed, visibly displeased with her ridicule, then glowered back at the exle again.  “No.  And if I did, no idea how to repair the accursed contraption.”<br/><br/>His attention was torn away when she looked, and pointed, and already sullen eyes glared at the fire with greater suspicion.  He glanced dubiously to her when she suggested the Lord was providing assistance, his skepticism writ large in his features.  “We know that<em>we</em>are from God.”  He paused, his gaze sliding at the rocky landscape around them, at the distant fire.  “And the whole world lies in the power of the evil one.”  Still, he touched the pistol at his side to reassure himself, then set off at a brisk pace towards the distant fire.<br/><br/>“Yes,” he grunted, clearly expecting her to keep pace.  He unbuttoned the catch on his holster, leaving it free and open, then slipping through scrub brush and smaller cacti towards the firelight.  He slowed as he came closer, his eyes casting about for the one who'd made the fire.<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f0/The_preacher.png)</div>A man in black sat upon a small rock, a closely trimmed grey beard visible beneath a tangle of grey hair.  The fire – the entire camp seemed to exude a strange warmth, a calm and soothing presence.<br/><br/>The driver turned his head, side to side, then sniffed the air.  It was as though he couldn't see the man sitting before him, plain as day.  He took another step forward, then blanched and recoiled, hissing.  He turned then, fearful, his eyes widening, and his hand clamped around Jaelyn's wrist, squeezing it hard as he began to drag her back towards the carriage.  “This is not a safe place,” he hissed, as he tried to drag her along.<br/><br/>The man at the fire stood, and at his neck, Jaelyn could see a simple wooden cross dangle.  He stepped closer, and then his voice boomed like thunder across the desert.<br/><br/><em>“And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.”</em><br/><br/>The Guardian Angel froze in place at the words, turning back towards the fire.  They seemed to echo off rock and desert, the words carried like the trumpets of Judgment Day, and the driver snarled and drew the pistol at his side, aiming it back towards the campsite.  He squeezed a shot, and the preacher, unruffled, didn't break stride as the bullet whizzed over his shoulder.