There was something interesting about the poky little saloon in the rougher side of town, and that something was Avery.

Long gone were the days when Guinevere was just a shy young thing with her nose in a book. She was a researchcer now, and kept in touch with as many Heralds as she could. This wasn't to say that her social skills were much improved- Being forward didn't necessarily rule out being awkward, it just helped to accentuate it to others. However, she persistently checked in on Heralds whenever she had the time and opportunity, and Avery was a special case.

It wasn't so much that there was anything different about his sacrifice or his development. She knew people who had living sacrifices made to them before. No, her interest in Avery wasn't of a scientific nature, but of a social one. The blunt, precocious little Herald entertained her, and she enjoyed visiting the saloon and watching him grow up paradoxically: a straight shooting, serious boy who also happened to dress up like a cowpoke from centuries ago. Even Guinevere had a sense of humour somewhere in her research crusted heart, and Avery always tickled it.

Thus, she sat down at the bar in the saloon and pulled a newspaper up to hide her face, waiting to be noticed by the only cowboy in this one horse town.