The sun hovered low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the peaceful corral. The air carried the scent of weathered lumber and earth mingling with the smoke of burning wood from the stoves inside and the fire pit. A gentle evening breeze rustled the tall prairie grass, the soft, rhythmic creak of the windmill up the hill, and the distant call of birds added a touch of serenity to the dusk.

  She set up her targets of tin cans on a stretch of fence, the town at her back. Lori's hand was a blur as she drew her revolver, fired five quick shots, and re-holstered her weapon before the targets hit the ground.

  Her father stood behind Lori holding her rifle and nodded in approval.

  Jangles whooped with excitement, "She's so fast that five shots blur into one!"

  He winked at the dragon. "Reload."

  Lori's hands moved with lightning speed, ejecting the spent shells and loading fresh rounds from her belt. Each click of the cylinder felt like a countdown, her heart pounding with each second. With her father’s critical eye on her, she fumbled and dropped a bullet.

  “Slow down, kid. Practice your movements. Accuracy first, speed will follow. Now,” he gestured to a white circle painted on one of the thick fence posts. “Put five rounds into the center of the target, then reload.”

  Lori holstered the revolver, took a breath, and drew. She fanned the hammer of the gun and put five rounds in the circle almost at once. She took the time to push out each spent shell with the ejector rod and thumb in a fresh round.

  “Again,” he said.

  Lori fired more shots at the white target, then paused to reload. Her father intervened, advising her on how to hold the pistol as she reloaded. She fired another volley, and her father stepped in once more, tightening her reloading technique.

  Lori kept firing and reloading under her father's watchful eye, honing her technique until he was convinced she had mastered the process. He then had her repeat the actions several times before giving her an approving nod.

  “That’s the way. Do you think you can practice like that from now on?”

  “I think I can remember.”

  Her father tapped Jangles with is wooden arm. “You make her practice every night, you hear?”

  "Yes, sir!" said the dragon, nodding eagerly.

  “You never needed to practice shooting, kid. You’re a natural. But you’ve got to reload until you can do it in your sleep. That’s what will save your life.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His teachings meant a lot to Lori. There was a time when her father was the fastest gun in the west, and many sought after his highly regarded advice.

  Next, her father handed her the rifle, its weight familiar in her hands. She fired, the sharp crack echoing through the air as tin cans went flying. Her father halted the session.

  “There’s no point. You’re better than anyone.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Lori reloaded the rifle, her cheeks turning pink.

  Jangles chuckled. “You have no idea, sir! Last week she shot a deer while we were in the air!”

  Her dad nodded approvingly. “Impressive shot, kid.”

  Lori glanced away, embarrassed. “Just a lucky shot.”

  Her father shook his head. “No. You’re not lucky. You’re the best.” He almost looked at his missing right arm. “You had to be.” He turned and limped back toward the barn. “Let’s quit. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Lori and Jangles watched as her father hobbled away, the lingering scent of gunpowder hanging in the air.

  “What did he mean, ‘you had to be’?” Jangles asked.

  Lori's eyes fell to the ground, the gravity of her father's crippling injury pulling her thoughts into the past. Her gaze drifted to the top of the hill, where a solitary tree stood beyond the crest. “I had to be a good shot. I had to hunt to keep us fed.”

  “Oh,” Jangles nodded. His eyes traveled to the lone tree atop the hill that marked the graves of Lori’s mother, her brothers, and her sister. Jangles regretted asking.

  Before Jangles entered their lives, Lori faced a relentless series of losses. Her family fell, one after another, until it was just her and her father. She spoke of it sparingly, but the pain was clear in her eyes.

  Lori leaned the rifle against the fence, stepped away a few paces, pivoted, and launched a knife that sank into the wood with a satisfying *thunk*. In one fluid motion, she threw her tomahawk, embedding it right next to the knife. She strode back, prying them free and examining them.

  The tomahawk and knife bore worn markings etched into the blades, powerful symbols that made them effective against the undead and various creatures of the night. She hefted them in her hands, feeling their weight and watching the fading sunlight glint dully off the sharp edges.

  “He gave these to me after mom died,” she said, her eyes tracing the etchings. “He couldn’t hunt anymore after losing his limbs.”

  Jangles asked, “Did he want you to carry on his work?”

  Lori shook her head, then nodded, then shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. He never said. Maybe he just couldn’t use them anymore and gave them to me.”

  Jangles' eyes darted from the barn to Lori. “He never quit hunting. He stayed behind, guiding and teaching other hunters. He adapted, becoming their mentor.”

  Lori sighed and holstered the knife and tomahawk. “Yep. Keep fighting the good fight. Even though it costs an arm and a leg,” she spat bitterly.

  Jangles nodded to the top of the hill. “I never knew your family, but we’ve visited their graves many times. You never told me what happened to your father. And I suppose it’s none of my business. You and your father found my egg, hatched me, and raised me. I care for you both very much. I kind of think of him as my own father. In a way, he is. He read to me, looked after me while you were away hunting. I owe him as much as I owe you.”

  Lori leaned back on the fence as she rolled a cigarette. “What are you trying to say?”

  Jangles sat on his haunches. “You are as much a Hunter as your father was. We might have to eke out a living delivering mail and shuffling passengers to and fro, but you are a Hunter, and you’ll never be satisfied doing anything else.”

  Lori rolled her eyes as she struck a match and lit the cigarette. “I will never be a Hunter, Jangles. You and me, we’re bound for the skies, for the next horizon.” She looked towards the setting sun and a wistful smile spread across her face. “I want to travel, see the world, not hunt vampires and ghosts. Forget that. You and me, Jangles, we’re going places, just as soon as we get dad settled in at Craterton Forge, we’ll go to the farthest unexplored reaches. We’ll go where no one’s ever gone, and take a look around!”

  Jangles smiled. “I’d like that.” His smile faded as he glanced back at the barn. “I’m only three years old, but I already know that what we want and what we get are never the same,” he said, lowering his gaze.

  Lori patted his muzzle. “Cheer up, my friend. It’s going to be hard, I know, but we’ll get there.” She pressed his face to her body with a deep hug. “As long as we’re together, we can handle anything.”

  Jangles purred in her embrace for a few moments. Then Lori shouted in surprise and dropped her cigarette when Jangles lifted her high into the air. Lori squeezed her legs around Jangles’ nose, gripping onto his large horns, holding onto his face for dear life.

  “Oh no, I can’t see! I’ve got something on my face! Lori! Help!” Jangles staggered around, pretending to be blind.

  Lori laughed and shouted, “Put me down, you crazy dragon!” She held on tightly as the ground spun beneath her.

  The dogs leapt about at his feet, joyfully barking and baying as they joined in the fun.