<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Nathan Hunter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong><del>Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)</del>Unemployed.  (Not yet common knowledge.)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>An evening stroll<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/>Nathan cast a glance back towards Margeurite, surprised and impressed when she waded into the bloody mess without a second thought, and continued to give his own fierce glower to the townsfolk which continued to linger.<br/><br/><strong>“She’s a witch, deputy – how else you explain – “ </strong><br/><br/>Hunter took a step forward, his glower turning into a positive smolder of rage.<strong> “She ain’t no witch,”</strong>he spat.<strong> “Her <em>chemistry</em> has saved the life of two deputies in the past, so I won’t hear a word about it.  And witches don’t claw their own selves open.  She’s a <em>victim</em> here, Leo, so get your damn trap closed ‘fore I close it for you.”</strong><br/><br/>He paused, then pointed gestured towards the road.<br/><br/><strong>“Better yet, go find Corky.  Make sure she’s a’runnin’ this way.”  </strong><br/><br/>He stepped back, keeping his eyes up on the roofs, and looked back to Margeurite and Elisabeth, his jaw tense as he kept the crowd warded from the scene.  Leo frowned, the miner-turned-shopkeep finally giving a nod and heading off towards the sheriff's office.  He glanced down at her off hand comment about the sword, his brow furrowing.<br/><br/><strong>“You know who one of the victims was?”</strong><br/><br/>It hadn’t even occurred to him, really, that he was a deputy no longer.  The need to keep order and protect the people of Gamorra – if only from themselves – was as natural as breathing to him.  He was already counting body parts and looking around the scene, trying to determine where the attack might have begun and where it might have –<br/><br/>He paused, his gaze flickering to a wet, red paw print on one of the walls.<br/><br/><strong>“Sonofabitch,”</strong>he swore, glancing back to the print on Elisabeth’s dress, the large red paw and the matching mark upon the wooden wall.  His gaze traced upwards, one print after another that ascended the side of the building.<br/><br/><strong>“Margeurite – get her to a doctor.  Then <em>get her to a priest.</em>”</strong><br/><br/>The lawman vaulted over a half-fence, zigzagging around an approaching spectator, running south and west through the residences scattered haphazardly through the district.<br/>