1: Across a dusty road in a scorched desert valley rides a lone horse-drawn carriage. Ikal sits out front. This is the summer of 1850.

Ikal (narrating): Now, as you said, this was two years earlier, before Ol’ Stoneclaw passed an’ I took over bein’ sheriff. A Ms. Jocelyn Villeneuve had hired me to shepherd her through the narrow Spearmont Pass: was the shortest route to North Fork, but it’s narrow an’ most folk weren’t willin’ to ride it those days.

They’d tell tales of Indian raiders ’round those parts.

But that ain’t the whole story.

2: We see Ms. Jocelyn Villeneuve in the carriage, a thin wallcreeper in a full dress and bonnet, looking out the window at the horizon.

Ikal (narrating): Truth is, rumor had it of a monster stalkin’ that trail. Wild reports of a big ol’ beast flipping carts and tearing horses in half. I’d seen the wrecks, ain’t no Indian what could rip apart a wagon like that.

Course a pretty lil’ rumbustious flower like her, shady place like that, figured she was among the willows but I needed the tin those days, keep from scab herding.

3: The carriage moves down the road, as seen from behind bushes.

Ikal (narrating): But I grew up ’round there, and I knew the pass since I was a kid – could say I was uniquely qualified.

4: A hulking figure rises out of the bushes as the carriage continues along the dusty road.