Desert, white sand rippling, reddish sky. A figure, on a white horse, head wrapped in a scarf and covered in a hat, wearing an assortment of Western clothes: boots, jodhpurs, a short jacket. As it comes closer we see it’s probably a very young man or a boy.

Then, from the distance, a number of horses, ridden by men in long robes. The first figure pulls out a gun and shoots. There’s a round of gunfire, one of the horsemen falls, and the first figure’s horse is wounded.

Another figure approaches, also in a robe, and shoots in the air: his shots might sound a code, as the other riders disperse. We see him: he’s tall, beardless, frowning.

He gets off his horse, goes to the first figure who’s lying in the sand, unconscious, wounded perhaps. He takes a flask from his hip, splashes water on the recumbent boy’s face, then lifts the boy’s head and shoulders in his arms. We see the boy’s features; not a boy after all, but a pretty young woman in her twenties, with narrow long eyes and an upturned nose.

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