A feverish-minded, ill-bodied night at the O.K. Corral.
The horses are safe, yet restless and stamping/snorting, seemingly without pause.
The door swings on its hinges, admitting starlight and a couple out on the moor, pleading, crying, demanding, standing.
Wind picks up and voices become clear for a couple of minutes.
Threats cast impulsively bring instant remorse as the strains and song die away.
In the adjoining house, candles can be seen on all three floors, and the sounds of weeping and sobbing inconsolably echo.