The exhausted paint stumbled again, her hooves striking sparks in the rocky arroyo. Jase rolled forward, catching his horse’s mane, a fresh trail of blood surging down his side. He had ceased to wonder if he’d live to see Heaven’s Gulch again; life now existed only in the moment between heartbeats.
Four vultures wheeled patiently in the pale blue sky.
(60 words)
This week's genre is Western. Your story must contain four of something.


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