Despite still being early in the day, the Thornton-Curry Saloon quickly finds its tables filled. Patrick Garrett stands at the eastern side of the room, a wry smile on his face as he watches some of his deputies, including Lena Bauer, partake of the bar’s offerings. Mindful of his own duty, he sips a mug of fresh coffee, talking quietly with Andrew Roberts. Henry Cooper is sharing a round of beers with his ranch hands, while Ike Ellis and Quinn Murdock partake in a shot of whiskey with the Regulators. Although they don’t join in the drinking of alcohol, Shabbakasha and his Mescalero allies remain at the saloon, contentedly drinking water and coffee as they regard the pleasant mountain morning and the almost cloudless sky overhead from the porch. In a short while, Renata Montano steps inside, accompanied by Valentina Perez and Michael Kibbee, all drawn by the sounds of celebration.

The saloon itself feels changed. While it had always provided a safe gathering place for those who opposed L.G. Murphy and “The House”, now it no longer carries the demeanor of a shelter in a storm. Laughter rings out in the barroom and most of those present are smiling. The warmth of friendship and camaraderie has settled into the space, lending it the pleasant atmosphere of a happy community, or even a home.

Desiree Thornton, who had disappeared momentarily to put on a fresh dress and tie her hair back, returns to the bar, addressing the members of the posse who have gathered there. ”I most certainly owe each of you at least a couple of rounds,” she says, ”Besides, I can certainly afford it. I have the feeling that my business is going to be much improved from here on out.”

She was quiet and somber.  She had replaced her hat and duster with the best fitting ones she could find for now.  The duster could be taken in later.  The hat, well it was a hat.  Gray felt.  Fitted her mood.

Though her black depression and focus on how evil the world was were gone, she wasn't exactly all sweetness and light either.  She couldn't be, look at everything that had happened to her.  Bittersweet was the right word.  The realization not everything had to be horrible and evil was also the realization that being horrible and evil was the easy, lazy option.

It would also take a while to really figure out the locus of control.  She couldn't help many things.  But she was cottoning quickly to the fact she controlled her reactions to them a lot better than she'd previously believed.

Siobhan still believed the world was full of evil things that did evil acts, but that wasn't the whole story.  Not by a long shot.

It sort of amused her, Cooper running off to the Rangers.  Shoot, she'd been more of a Ranger than either of them through this mess, she'd been the only one to try to fight Murphy and his entire gang by herself.  She internally chuckled.

So a little bit of that dark sense of gallows humor remained.  Well that was all right, she reckoned.

The Toothpick had done her well.  She needed to get a strop and paste before she left town, work on its edge a little.  She never took a stone to it, if it was that dull it needed a proper resharpening by somebody who know what they were doing, and no one with a damn grinding wheel.  Those were for making knives, not sharpening them.

Though she was infamous for her Schofield, the truth was she used all of the weapons she carried.  They all did something different.  In a fit of pique she'd considered just dumping them all, but she rethought that.  They were just objects, and she still had enemies.  Maybe she just needed to think about what she did a little harder from now on.

That was ridiculous, of course she would.  She'd come to Lincoln to find a man and kill him, and wound up finding something else entirely.  She knew she was leaving, she just had no idea to where.

She had no idea about a lot of things.  Maybe the church folks were right, or maybe just not entirely wrong was a better way of thinking about it.  Maybe the fact she always knew what had happened to her was wrong, despite not experiencing what right was, was the solution to the problem she constantly turned over.  Knowing that there was a right and a wrong without experiencing both in all instances implied the objective existence of right, didn't it?

She didn't know, a philosopher she wouldn't make, she told herself, but truth be told many worse philosophers had lived than she.

Something else came to mind.  It wasn't more versus of Rye Whiskey.  That had become a new hobby recently.  This didn't make her sing (not well, but not as bad as a dying animal either), rather it made her silent.  Finally, she spoke, something she'd kept buried a long time.  It was a message for a woman long dead, a message in vain, save for the fact she needed to say it and get it out of her system.

"You ought not killed my little brother, he should've had a chance to grow up. He woulda had fun some time."  She paused.  The next part was the hard part.  "You were horrible, but I'm not going to be like you, not no more.  Ah forgive you.  Ah don't love you, but ah forgive you.  Now you go away where you belong, you don't get to live in here no more."

She probably looked insane, sitting there, staring at her hand, talking to herself, but she didn't care.  She was going soon anyway.  It was just a question of stage, or seeing if she had enough goodwill here to squeeze out a horse.

A glass of beer in his hand, Andrew Roberts steps over to Siobhan, concern etched on his deeply lined features, the sunlight though the nearby window accentuating the deep scar beneath his eye. ”You alright there, ma’am?” he asks, his interest genuine. He nods toward Garrett. “Sheriff and I were both talkin’ about how much courage you showed out there. There aren’t many as has that sort of bravery, even among the Mescalero.”

"Reckon th' Sheriff's debatin' whether ta through me in the hoosegow an' come up with somethin' ta hang me fer, or whether he outta not look th' gift horse in th' mouth an' let me be someone else's problem.  Ah reckon the latter'll win out, ah ain't too worried.  He got better ta worry about."  She chuckled bitterly.

"But since ya asked, ah'm better'n ah been in a long time, though ah suppose ah ain't well, not in th' noggin' no how.  But ah reckon it's all right, ah got lots of company't least.  An ah ain't brave... well ah ain't no mere brave'n anyone else.  Brave's always what ya can't imagine yerself doin' and ya don't really know what that'll be 'til the straddle meets th' saddle.  Ah think them folks what works every day fer very little pay hopin' tomorrow'll do 'er somehow's brave.  Now, they's like me, they's stupid, but they's brave too."

She finally touched her drink.  Maybe she would make a Cowboy Philosopher yet and someone would write down these things she said and publish it after she was dead and make a lot of money.

"But we is different, on account of ah'm one pow'r'ful ornery bitch.  But ah had two damn good teachers learn me that."  She mocked a toast.  "To my ma, who's a makin' hell miserable for them what deserve sech.  An my pa, for not doin' a damn thing."  She chuckled at herself bitterly.

Jacinta sat at the bar, one elbow propped on the wood as she waited on her drink.  She'd cleaned up as best she could, washing away most of the dirt and changing into a clean shirt and trousers.  Her hat, poncho, and chaps were in her saddlebags as she'd not need them until she was back on the trail.  Uncharacteristically, her braids had been unwoven and brushed out, leaving a mass of dark brown hanging in soft waves down her back.  They'd all been through quite a lot, so she figured she deserved a moment to relax in comfort.

Smiling at Thornton as she delivered a beer, she nodded her thanks.  "Gracias, chica.  With the dust settling, who do you think might need an extra hand?  I came to Lincoln lookin' for work, and I suppose that ain't changed none.  Still don't have much in the way of coin to live on at the moment.  Charity and gratitude won't extend that far once people get back to their regular lives." 

Roberts nods. ”Garrett’s not gonna try to put you in jail. You’ve done too much to make things right around here. I imagine you’d find a few folks who’d welcome you to stay in Lincoln, if you had a mind to.”

“We’ll just have to agree that we don’t see eye to eye on the notion of you being brave. I wish I could honestly call myself such. I did my share of hell raisin’, took some risks that were downright crazy when I was young. But that wasn’t about courage. It was about bein’ foolish. Not understandin’ the real value of things.”

“You ever need help from the Mescalero, come and find me. Wherever you end up, I hope it’s somewhere you can find a better life. Better than what came before.”

Thornton wipes the polished wood of the bar with a rag. ”Well, I have it on good authority that a fairly large parcel of land west of town just found itself without an owner. Actually, a good portion of it was said to rightfully belong to the late John Tunstall, but the dispute over the ownership had gotten tangled up in the court in Santa Fe. But…when the person who files the lawsuit, y’know, dies suddenly, the case gets closed.”

“All that to say that Susan McSween is going to find that her ranch has gotten a lot larger, and she may need some reliable hands to work it, if you’re inclined toward that sort of occupation.”

She nods in the direction of Quinn Murdock.”If not, I hear tell that Murdock over there is of a mind to set up another stage route or two, now that Lincoln’s a lot more welcoming to new settlers and businesses. He’s going to need himself a good scout to chart those courses out. He’s honest. Pays his people well.”

”Or you could join up with us law dogs for a spell,” Bauer suggests, taking a sip of her beer, ”We’re suddenly short on deputies. Once some of ‘em  heard that Murphy wasn’t among the living no more, they decided to make themselves scarce. Good riddance. Saved the rest of us the trouble of rooting out the bad apples.”

“But I’m certain that if you asked, the sheriff would pin a badge on you in a heartbeat.”

In reply to Andrew Roberts (msg # 6):

She shrugged.  "What's here?  For that matter, what's anywhere?"

She was chuckling a lot today.  "Anyway mebbe better'll be easy if ah ain't tryin' ta kills myself no more.  You wanna hear a joke?  Ah came here ta find an' kill my own Pa.  That were th' whole reason.  Ain't that the most dumbass thing ya never heard?"

Dr. Wayland piped up suddenly from his chosen place at the bar, "Since everyone is offering up professions..."  He kept scribbling in his notebook as he spoke, not bothering to direct his comments to anyone in particular, "Ah have found bounty hunting to be a fine and noble profession.  Quite in line with law work, with less...."  He tapped his pencil thoughtfully a moment, then settled on, "Regulation."

With most of his duties discharged and general safety of the locals now much more likely (though never exactly assured, of course), Albert made his way back over to his uncle and those ranch hands that had volunteered. "Thanks, y'all, we couldn't have done this without yer help. Took all the good folk pullin' together fer this outcome."


Albert nodded appreciatively at his uncle and patted the man on the shoulder. Albert himself had set out in hopes of finding some information about his own family. Turned out he'd found some very good folk here in Lincoln to whom he was related. Not exactly what he'd expected, but it was probably exactly what he needed. Things were going in the right direction for the Cowboy at this point. He'd made some new friends and reconnected with some old friends. And discovered that there were more chapters of his life yet to be written.

"All good options," Jacinta agreed with a lift of her glass.  "Wouldn't say no to settling down in one place for a bit to see how things get on.  Being a law dog, though?"  She laughed with a wink to Lena.  "No, that ain't for me.  Badges make for pretty big targets."

“Maybe he had it comin’,” Roberts answers, his tone earnest, ”But, you know, revenge…” He glances at the table where the Regulators are gathered, ”…it always seems to leave a soul empty, even if it’s justified.”

He looks back at Siobhan. ”You’d probably be best served not to take advice from someone like me, but it sounds like what you’re most in need of is a home.” He lifts up a hand. “Now before you start chucklin’, I’m not talkin’ about some little homestead with a painted fence and a garden. I mean someplace where you really belong.”

“For me, that ended up bein’ the Apache. Living with them taught about how pointless some of the things I’d lent such importance to were. And how I’d ignored some things that truly did matter. Steppin’ out into the wilderness, leavin’ some of the craziness of these towns behind…it helped me see things clearer. I’m not fixed, mind you. Not by any imagining. But I’m better than I was.”

“I reckon there’s someplace out there like that for you, too. A place you can heal. You just gotta find it.”

”You know, Doctor, New Mexico’s got quite a ways to go before it can be called civilized…or law abiding,” Garrett tells Wayland, ”There’s going to plenty of call out here for an honest bounty hunter like yourself. Fact is, a sheriff like myself, with a responsibility to keep the peace in a single county…there’s only so far I can chase someone.”

“My point being, you decide to keep to this territory for a time, you’ve got my word that you’ll be paid promptly, and in full, for any fugitives you deliver to my jail.”

The cowhands are quick to congratulate Albert, several offering claps on the back and compliments regarding the gunfighter’s courage. Two glasses of beer appear in front of Albert in the midst of the boisterous welcome.

When it subsides, Henry Cooper draws Albert to one side, his deeply lined face serious. ”You know, Albert, I’m not always the best at sayin’ what matters. You spend most of your days in the saddle, you get accustomed to keepin’ your thoughts to yourself. Of course, your Aunt Alice, she’s not the kind to let me stay quiet. I’m blessed to have her. She’s taught me quite a bit over these past thirty years.”

He looks down at his half full glass. ”You know, Albert, the truth is, I was real worried about you for a time. What happened to your family, the loss you faced, I think that would destroy any man, no matter how strong they might be. I never really felt I was ever rightly able to tell you how sorry I was. There just weren’t words fit to express it. After that, when we lost touch with you for a time, your aunt and me, we prayed for you every day. We held out hope that somehow, some way, you’d be alright.”

He looks up at his nephew and smiles. ”And look at you now. You rode out here. Helped us through the worst spell of ranching I’ve ever known since I started punching cows. And then, when all the trouble in this county reared its head, you never thought twice about helpin’. You risked your life for folks you’d just come to know.”

He nods his head. ”What I’m tryin’ to say, Albert is I’m proud of you. Proud of the man you’ve become. You’re honestly one of the finest men I’ve ever known. And I’m so thankful to have you as my nephew.”

“You always have a home with us. Always.”

Lena smiles and laughs. She clinks her glass against Jacinta’s. “Fair point. They do tend to attract a bit of unwanted attention.”

“Badge or no, it’d be good to have you stay around.”

Ike Ellis orders a pair of whiskey shots for himself and Quinn Murdock. Glancing over at Castillo, he says, ” You know, Señorita, if you’re of a mind to, I’d pay you good money for any mustangs you could round up. There’s still quite a lot of ‘em east of Lincoln and I reckon I’m gonna need more horses than ever pretty soon.”

He glances back at Murdock. ”Especially if we end up with a couple of new stagecoaches rolling through here.”

In reply to Andrew Roberts (msg # 13):

"Ah reckon ah don't belong nowhere.  Ah ain't done nothin' ta belong nowhere, an ah been that way so long ah don't know where ta start."  She shrugged.  "Tis what 'tis.  But mebbe yer on ta somethin'.  Th' only one here weren't teched in th' head were that Wolf What Walks.  Hell, mebbe I oughta go jawjack at him one more time an' not be in sech a damn hurry."

Jactina nodded her thanks to Ike as she took another draw of beer.  "Not such a bad idea, either.  Bit of both worlds, I'd say.  I have a particular set of skills that make me a nightmare for horses like those.  Not to mention that your town is short a mustanger now.  Maybe I can help to fill that need."  She was still bitter about Kearney, but not enough to have it ruin their victory.  "With town cleaned out, stages should be able to run without any problem.  Once word spreads, people'll want to settle down in a place they can stretch their legs.  I'd say that Lincoln is about to get a whole lot bigger."

Albert smiled as he received the congratulations, and he again offered thanks for the support of those that did so. The cowboy took a quick sip of the beer before his uncle began to speak, and while the elder Cooper talked, Albert got a bit misty-eyed. Most ranchers weren't the most loquacious, nor did they really discuss their feelings all that much. So it meant all the more to Albert to hear what his uncle had to say.

The younger Cooper blinked a few times, then nodded. "You were right ta be worried, as I was certainly lost fer a time. My path ain't been easy, but you and Aunt Alice givin' me a soft place ta land made all the difference. Sometime a fella just needs someone ta lead them outta the darkness." Albert gestured around at the other ranch hands. "And as these folks can attest, yer a damn good leader. Just followin' yer example has helped me more'n you can ever know."

Albert tipped his head a little in the direction of Bryan. "I'ma try ta find some other folk that need some help. Ranger Lee wants me ta go to Roswell and mebbe join the Rangers. I think that I can do some good with them, so I'm inclined to do so." The ranch hand looked back at Henry to see if he had any thoughts on the matter.

After doing a quick reconnoiter of the building to make sure there weren't any ghostly wolves prowling around, Lee sat at the bar. Not long later, he was drinking from a glass that had a couple fingers of whiskey in it, something good that Miss Thornton had been kind enough to provide him. He didn't indulge in this too often, but it had been a difficult few days. He looked out across the establishment, content that at least he'd spent the time in good company. He thought that he'd seen the worst there was before he'd gotten to Lincoln, but here he'd seen the worst in the hearts of both ordinary people and threats from beyond the norm. Then again, he'd also seen the best in people, some of whom had found themselves in a fight in which they were outmatched, but didn't back down.

And then there were a group of people he'd come to regard as friends in the last few days. He had known a couple before this all shook out, but had the benefit of meeting a few more. Hell, he looked to be getting a new recruit for the Rangers out of all of this.

Of course, this business wasn't done from his part. He owed a report to the Governor, and then the actual report he'd be giving to the Rangers. He'd spend some time yet in Lincoln, collecting written accounts of some of the things that had been done here, including that of the new Sheriff and Deputy. There was the trial of Manuel Segovia, of course, who as far as he knew was still being held prisoner at the old Tunstall place.

So he sat quietly for once in a long time, relaxing, having a drink among the company of good people.

Despite sitting outside, his gaze fixed on the rolling earth of the valley and the blue sky above it, Roving Wolf suddenly stands, as if he has been called. Making his way inside, he moves past a group of revelers to approach Siobhan, a rare ghost of a smile playing on his impassive features.

Nodding to her, he says, ”You need someone to ride with you, tuwikáa? It may be that we can help each other to find a place in this world.”

”I think you’ll make a fine Ranger, Albert,” Henry answers without a moment’s hesitation, ”I’m no lawman, but I believe that you have the most important quality for anyone who puts on a badge. You care about others. What becomes of people, their lives, it matters to you. You let that guide you, you’ll always come to the right decision.”

He nods at Lee. ”I didn’t get the opportunity to know Ranger Lee all that well, but it strikes me that he’s the same way. A lot of men in his profession, they’d have listened to the empty reassurances of so-called respectable folks like Murphy and Dolan, and ridden right back out of town, never giving this place a second thought. But he didn’t. He never let up until he found the truth. Neither did you. I reckon he’ll be a good fella to learn the trade from.”

“You just make sure to drop a letter in the mail from time to time. And come see us when you can. As I told you, our ranch is your home, whenever you’ve got need of it.”

In the wake of the collapse of “The House”, the few survivors that remained loyal to L.G. Murphy scattered, fleeing the New Mexico territory, never to return. In the years that followed, Lincoln developed into a prosperous mountain settlement, attracting farmers, prospectors, and businesspeople. Although its geographic location prevented it from growing into a community the size of Santa Fe or Las Cruces, it became known for decades as one of the most favorable towns in the southwest.

The change was not immediate. The outlaws who felt that the territory offered them free reign for their depredations were slow to surrender to progress, their continued resistance forcing local law enforcers, along with bounty hunters and even the Texas Rangers, to fight for order in the Rio Bonito Valley. But within a matter of years, peace took hold, and Lincoln’s main street at long last lost the reputation for danger that had once made it infamous.

Although cattle ranching remained the most prominent business in Lincoln County, the ranchers that practiced the trade never sought to establish empires of the like of John Chisum, choosing instead to enjoy the ample prosperity they already possessed, and the peace that accompanied it. Most of the ranches that survived “The House”, or that were established in the years after its fall, remained successful for decades, many surviving into the present day.

John Kinney was arrested for cattle rustling in the year following the Lincoln County War and subsequently served five years in prison. Following his release, he drifted to Arizona, where he found success as a miner, never taking up the outlaw life again. In his later years, he retired to Prescott, where he lived for the remainder of his days.

Michael Kibbee remained in Lincoln, continuing to publish The Lincoln Independent. The paper enjoyed a wide readership throughout the Rio Bonito Valley. Kibbee’s writings would later become frequently cited by historians, who regarded the newspaperman’s honest reporting as an invaluable source of insight into events in Lincoln during the town’s frontier period.

Valentina Perez resided in Lincoln for the rest of her life, serving as the town’s schoolmistress for most of her years. As Lincoln grew, she successfully worked for the expansion of the school, ensuring that all the children in the county had access to books and lessons. She was also instrumental to the founding the county’s first library.

Renata Montano continued to operate the Montano Store and the Patron House and remained involved in civic affairs in Lincoln throughout her life. Residents young and old revered her for her kindness and generosity. Señora Montano lived to see her 104th year.

True to his word, Quinn Murdock established two additional stagecoach lines into Lincoln, which proved central to the town’s expansion following the Lincoln County War. At the height of his business, Murdock fell from one of his stages during a midwinter run. He never recovered from his injuries.

Ike Ellis continued to operate the stables in Lincoln for almost twenty years. He remained good natured throughout his time in the town, though he frequently expressed the opinion that he felt that Lincoln had grown too large for his liking. He eventually retired to live with his son and his family in the fledgling village of Cloudcroft.

Manuel Segovia was sentenced to thirty years in prison for his role in the kidnappings in Lincoln and was incarcerated in the newly built territorial penitentiary south of Santa Fe. He did not survive his prison term.

Henry and Alice Cooper remained in Lincoln for the remainder of their lives, continuing to operate the ranch they had founded into their late years. Both were regarded as being among Lincoln’s most beloved residents, and the pair were responsible for financing the expansion of Lincoln’s school and the construction of its library. Cowboys in the area were said to vie with one another for the opportunity to work on the Cooper Ranch.

Susan McSween became one of the most prominent cattlewomen in the southwest. In addition to overseeing the operation of her ranch, McSween was successful in fighting for legal reforms that curtailed the activities of land hungry opportunists like Lawrence Murphy, as well as protections for many of the Native American tribes that called New Mexico home.

Tom Horn drifted the frontier, eventually taking up work as a range detective, a gunman who served to protect the property of the ranchers who hired him. Horn’s reputation for ruthlessness was often sufficient to frighten away rustlers who learned of his presence in their area. He was ultimately tried and convicted for the murder of a young man in connection with a Wyoming range feud that he had become involved in. He was executed by hanging. Years later, when the cemetery where Horn had been buried was moved, some insisted that the infamous gunman’s coffin had been found empty.

As was his way, Shabbakasha continued to roam, returning often to the Capitan Mountains and the Rio Bonito Valley. Throughout the decades following the Lincoln County War, he would appear in Lincoln periodically, always welcomed by the townsfolk who knew him. He was last seen in 1925. Many longtime residents of Lincoln insist that his spirit continues to dwell in the mountains, still keeping watch over the valley.

Andrew Roberts remained in the New Mexico territory, living most of the time with the Mescalero Apache in the south. On occasion, the aging bounty hunter would resurface, taking on the pursuit of a fugitive or two, his hair growing more gray with each appearance. He died in El Paso in his sixtieth year, gunned down by a young bank robber who he had tracked into Texas.

Aileen Kearney ultimately served three years in prison for her part in supporting Lawrence Murphy’s schemes. Upon her release, it was reported that she had traveled north. Some claimed that a woman of her description was seen in the Yukon Territory after the turn of the century.

Desiree Thornton operated her saloon for fifteen more years, making the tavern a Lincoln institution. Wise with money, Thornton invested in several successful business ventures in the area, including Susan McSween’s expanding cattle ranch. She eventually sold the saloon to a hand picked buyer and traveled overseas, where she settled in Paris, becoming a woman of leisure.

Lena Bauer remained in Lincoln County for another five years, staying long enough to see the valley freed from the worst of the outlaw activity that had plagued it. She later moved north. Never able to leave the mountains, she settled in Colorado, eventually being elected the Town Marshal of Leadville, where she kept the peace during the town’s silver boom. In her later years, she retired to a cabin in the Rockies.

Patrick Garrett remained the sheriff of Lincoln County for several years. Although successful in bringing numerous outlaws to justice, public opinion of him remained sharply divided, with some regarding him as an effective lawman, and others viewing him as a merciless killer. His later life was marked by instability. He was involved in a failed irrigation business in Texas, then served for a time as the collector of customs in El Paso, a post he left in disgrace. Garrett later returned to New Mexico, where he became involved in a ranching dispute. During a confrontation stemming from the conflict, the former lawman was shot and killed by a ranch worker.

Josiah “Doc” Scurlock rode out of Lincoln shortly after the death of Lawrence Murphy, never to return, his whereabouts a mystery. Several decades later, in 1975, a noted Chicago historian commented on the remarkable resemblance between Scurlock and one of the police officers who served alongside ambitious U.S. Bureau of Prohibition Agent Eliot Ness in the effort to apprehend gangster Alphonse Capone.

Jose Chavez y Chavez eventually left the New Mexico territory for California. Rumors later held that he joined with a group of so-called bandits who raided food supplies in the area and distributed them to the poor living in the vicinity of the City of Lost Angels.

Henry McCarty, also known as William H. Bonney, also called Billy the Kid, never left New Mexico. Seemingly unable to find peace in the wake of the Lincoln County War, he turned to a life of outlawry, committing numerous thefts and cattle rustlings that earned him the wrath of several prominent citizens in the territory, including the cattle baron John Chisum, who insisted that the territorial government make Bonney’s capture a priority. He was killed by Sheriff Pat Garrett at Fort Sumner. Some reports maintain that he was unarmed at the time of his death, and shot from behind in the dark. He was buried at the fort alongside the memorial plot of his longtime friend Tom O’Folliard.

The legends of the hauntings within the Capitan Mountains slowly faded after the defeat of “The House”. Those who ventured into the peaks in the years that followed noted that the great stretches of deadfall that had once dominated the upper slopes had begun to disappear, overtaken by the growth of new grasslands and forests.

Among the Mescalero, some tell a story that, not long after the restoration of the valley, two ancient sisters, one being life and the other death, were reunited on the mountain that some had come to call High Lonesome. As the tale goes, the two siblings, overjoyed at finding one another once more, clasped hands upon meeting, and their bodies were transformed into countless blossoms. The flowers, some light and some dark, were picked up on the passing wind and were scattered into every part of the world.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:06, Sun 27 June 2021.