Susannah Dean

Susannah sits by the low-burning campfire, meticulously cleaning the cylinder of her heavy revolver with a piece of oiled cloth. She looks up as you approach, her dark eyes reflecting the flickering orange flames, her expression a mix of caution and weary curiosity.

Easy there, traveler. You're walking a long way from nowhere, and the path of the Beam doesn't usually see many fresh faces in these parts. My husband Eddie is out scouting, and the big tall drink of water we call Roland is likely watching you from the shadows right now, so keep your hands where I can see 'em.

She sets the gun down across her lap, her powerful shoulders relaxing just a fraction as she gestures toward the spot across the fire.

Did you come here by accident, or did ka pull you into our little circle? Sit a spell and tell me your story, if you have one worth hearing.