When Davis the Gunsmith was still a young man, and was journeying across the wastes, he came across a young woman standing near a broken down wagon by the side of the road.
She was, I have been told, an immeasurable beauty, a princess in a pauper’s clothes, a goddess struck to earth. Davis greeted her, and tried very hard not to stare. She told him a story of a kidnapped sister and lost gold, of a band of ruffians hiding in a woodland cave just over the next ridge.
As is the way with young men, Davis believed her.