Run. She had to run. She couldn't stop running. To stop running meant ... it meant ... It was pitch dark. It was silent. There was dirt under her fingernails, her body was bruised, her knees and her elbows bore scrapes. She'd put her long hair in a knot so it wouldn't be in the way but the bun was coming out, loose strands falling around her face. Her dress could barely be called a dress anymore. It was a collection of rags beginning to fall from her body, leaving a trail. A trail he could follow ... "No ... run ... Gotta ... run ..." She murmured the words over and over again, locked in a feverish dream. Her lips were chapped, her skin blistered and swollen and cut and bruised. She was sweating and yet she shivered as if she was freezing. They had found her in the desert, suffering from thirst and heat stroke. Now she lay in a bed while the doctor finished tending to her, then walked over to the woman who had found her and the woman's son. Abigail Winter was a woman just past the prime of her life. Gray streaks lined her hair but she still stood proud, her dark brown eyes sparkled. She owned the building that doubled as lodge and saloon. Her son, Donald Winter, was in his early twenties. He was his mother's pride and joy and looked exactly like his father. Broad shoulders, lean hips, dark brown hair and dark green eyes flecked with gold. God, how she missed his father. He would have been as proud as she, she was sure. "What does it look like, Doc?" Donald asked. Doc Hudson was a man in his sixties, dressed in a suit, wearing spectacles and carrying his bag. He sighed. "Thirst, heat stroke, just like I said. Just keep her hydrated and warm. You might want to make sure someone is watchin' over her. If her condition worsens, lemme know." "Thank you, Doctor," Abigail said. "How about we go downstairs and get you a drink on the house?" Doc smiled. "That would be greatly appreciated, ma'am." Abigail led him over to the door and paused in the doorway. "Donald?" Donald turned back to his mother and smiled. "Um, I'll catch up to you, Mama." She studied him, then nodded and smiled back. She had such a good boy. She closed the door behind her, shutting out the music from downstairs.