Characters Name: Leigh Lewis
Gender - Male or Female: Female
Race: Mix of Native American and White
Age: 28

Physical Description: Waist length brown hair, more like a mane than anything else, it hardly ever lies flat. Dark, deep set brown eyes, and a faint, almost invisible scar stretching from beneath her jaw diagonally across her throat. She has a lean build that comes more from lack of nutrition as opposed to a naturally slender physique.

Weaknesses & Strengths: Incredibly stubborn and a little arrogant, cynical in an almost cruel way, but strangely kind at apparently random times. She's an excellent shot with a pistol, and has outdoor skills mostly developed through experience. She can ride a horse very well for a woman, although her talents in all other areas are rather lacking.

Gear & Weapons: A single horse, a plain but sturdy bay gelding. Two pistols, and a knife of mysterious origin that is constantly sheathed.

What Type of Character: Part of a gang of robbers, currently on the run.

Assets: Lives with only what she can carry with her, but has some money left over from her last carriage robbery. Not much, and the stock is dwindling fast.

Background: Her father had been in love with a Native American woman, who died of smallpox shortly after Leigh's birth. Mr. Lewis remarried shortly after, although the happiness was short lived. Her parents were originally well off, but a disastrous fire when she was four years old killed both her parents, and burnt everything they had to the ground; literally. She's been on her own ever since, and joined up with a band of rogues when she was nineteen. For nine years, the group did fairly well, until finally, one by one, each member of the gang was arrested and hanged. As far as she knows, she's the last one left.

Write a short scenario:
"'Ere!" The shout came from over the girl's left shoulder, and Leigh spun around, grinning widely. Her hand, calloused and quite unlike what a lady's hand should look like, fastened around the burlap sack that was tossed at her. This maneuver could have been easier on horseback, but unfortunately, Leigh was on foot. And even more unfortunately, the nineteen year old was not known for her grace. She tripped over a rut in the dirt road leading out of town, and flung the burlap bag aside to catch herself, which merely scraped the skin off her hand. Grumbling, she straightened, turning to look at the fellow member of her gang who now stood over her, laughing his head off at her clumsiness. "If that bag had been full of gold..." That was what he was supposed to say. But suddenly, he wasn't laughing anymore. His face was somber, hurt, betrayed, furious. "You killed me, Leigh." That was what he /did/ say. Blood was blossoming on his stomach, and Leigh couldn't move, couldn't go towards him or away from him or anything. Only a tortured whisper. "I ain't done nothin!" She hissed.
"You killed me."
"No!"

And suddenly it was all gone. Leigh was still lying flat on her back, staring up at the night sky, her arms outstretched. Slowly, the brunette sat up. Her gelding was still hobbled, a few feet away, his eyes half shut. The grass all around was completely still, the humid air hot and extremely still. She would have been glad for a breeze, even if it did nothing more than stir the stifling air. Just as slowly, Leigh Lewis stood up. "A dream." She muttered to herself. An almost constantly recurring dream, as a matter of fact. She felt guilty, being the last one of her "friends" alive. But not often. She stretched, tilting her face back to the stars, and smirked. A real smile scarcely touched her lips. If she tried, Leigh had the feeling she'd break her face or something. Except for her horse, the girl was alone. But she had been that way for most of her life. It was nothing new to her.