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1885
John sits curled into himself at the edge of the campfire's light.
Just close enough it can warm his frigid fingers, just far enough to hide himself away in the darkness.
He rubs the palm of his hand across the nasty bruise and raw skin spanning the front of his throat and wonders nervously if his voice will ever recover from nearly ending up lynched. It tastes like blood when he tries to speak.
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A look at John Marston's beginnings in the Van der Linde gang, spanning from 12 years old to young adulthood.