The Saloon doors swung open, a gust of cold wind swept spindrift into the dimly lit room. The thump of snow-caked boots against the floor echoed as the tired cowboy entered, hunched figure draped with a weathered duster coat. He surveyed the room with half-closed and weary eyes.

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows on the worn floor and across the well used furniture, as the tall figure filled the doorway.

As the cowboy made his way to the bar, two strangers turned their attention toward him. One was a quiet middle-aged man, belly straining against the buttons of a well-worn shirt, blank paper and broken pencils littered his table. The other was a young woman sat on the far side, elegant features and an air of mystery, a single notebook and fountain pen neatly arranged before her.

"Howdy," the first man broke the silence. "Looks like you've been riding for a good while. How's the trail treatin' you?"

The cowboy let out a slight chuckle, fatigue momentarily lifting. "The trail ain't always kind, but we cowboys learn to reckon with its ups-and-its-downs," he replied, his voice deep and tinged with exhaustion.

The woman fixed her gaze on the cowboy, her eyes shining with empathy. "Thats a tough lesson. What brings you here?" she enquired, her voice calm and as warm as the embers in the grate.

The cowboy nodded slowly, pushed his hat back a touch. "Well Ma'am, there are plenty of wannabes who ain't never gonna learn....." he removed his duster and draped it carefully over the stool to his side, perching himself on another. "For me, I guess you could say that this world can be a mighty glum place; even the snow feels heavier when you ride alone, but sometimes you gotta pause and savour the journey."

The room fell silent, the weight of the cowboy's words hanging in the air like a thick fog. The cowboy reached forward of the bar, found a bottle and poured himself a shot. Raising the glass to his lips, and with a long drink, the cowboy could feel the warmth of old No7 coarse through his body. He settled into his seat, comforted by the whisky and the company who seemed to appreciate his struggle.

The jovial man leaned across his table, eyes filled with curiosity. "Where are you headed?" he asked, genuine interest in his voice.

The cowboy was lost in thought for a moment, images of endless horizons dusted with snow preying on his mind. He exhaled slowly before replying, "Well, I reckon I'll keep ridin' ‘til I find my place in this world. But for now, I'll take my rest, surrounded by you kind strangers."

The tired cowboy raised his glass in a silent toast to the room. The fire crackled, casting a warm glow on the faces of the people who had briefly become his companions. In that moment, he felt the weight of the world lift just a little, knowing he was not alone on his journey.