Part 2: Cowboy and Coachman

The setting sun casts a deep orange glow in the office, causing Hunting to squint.
She sets down her pencil and leans back, exhausted.
Every name on the reservation list on the cluttered desk before her has been scratched out. All except one.
Editor Hunting: Phew. Alright, last appointment. Let's see. It's ...
Editor Hunting: "Recoleta"?
Recoleta: Yes! Is it my turn?
Recoleta: Long time no see, Ms. Hunting. Good afternoon.
The office door creaks open, revealing a fluttering feather and half of a pale face.
The editor gives a sharp inhale before nearly sliding off her chair in surprise.
Editor Hunting: You ... When did you get here?!
Editor Hunting: Never mind. That's not important. You're the last one today. Come in.
Recoleta closes the door and confidently places her manuscript on the desk.
Recoleta: Don't worry. This time, I've adjusted the pacing in the opening chapters. No more late exposition.
Editor Hunting: sigh If only I could believe you. Alright, let's get started.
Recoleta: Ahem—
An Andean valley breeze brushes over Hunting's weary eyelids as Recoleta begins her story.
Recoleta: "The cowboy had never once considered going home. That was until he met the coachman. Like him, the coachman cast no shadow behind him."
Recoleta: "He boarded that battered carriage and embarked on a long journey, crossing mountains and rivers until finally, he arrived home."
Recoleta: "Yet, that long-overdue joy failed to reach him. He came to a stop. He surveyed that land, familiar yet strangely unfamiliar, and a chill crept up his spine."
Hunting quickly realizes her eyelids have grown too heavy to lift.
The air thickens, distorting as her surroundings dissolve into shadows and vanish into fog.
Editor Hunting: Something's wrong. What's happening?
Editor Hunting: These images ... They're moving?
Distant mountains begin to form in Hunting's mind.

Under their homeland sky, the shadows of the cowhands loomed larger than their bodies. "This is my home," the cowboy spoke, his voice hoarse, "but this feels like I've wandered into someone else's dream."
"The mountain is still the same, the wind is still the same, but the people no longer recognize me." The cowboy gazed into the distance, hopeless. The coachman sighed, pulled the rusted pocket watch from his waist, and swung it before the cowboy. "Time turns everything into shadows, even home. Neither you nor I are any exception."
He paused, his gaze shifting to the vast horizon: "Where is my home? I don't even have a shadow."
The cowboy chuckled and patted the coachman's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't lose heart, buddy. Look at these cattle."
"These cattle never lower their heads to graze. They'll chase the stars until they drag the cowhand's soul along with them. No one should dream of returning home. The land there will bite and bite at you until you can never leave."
"If we follow these cattle, perhaps we can find the shadows we lost."
The two secured the carriage at the foot of the hill, tightened the reins, and silently followed the cowhand's footprints with heavy and determined steps. The mist thickened, and even that long, drawn-out whistle could no longer guide them.
The camera pulls back. In the distance, the vague outline of an ancient temple emerged.

Editor Hunting: Wait, there's no need to give filming directions.
When Hunting opens her eyes again, she and Recoleta are standing in a dense, foggy wilderness. The ground beneath them is dark and damp.
Editor Hunting: What ... What the hell place are we in?!
Recoleta: The fog is getting thicker. The camera pulls back. An ancient temple looms faintly in the distance.
Recoleta: Here we are—the "Hellplace."
Editor Hunting: Wait ... This is ... your story? I thought these scenes only existed in your mind!
Recoleta: Of course, they only exist in my mind. Everything is fiction. But this is the first time I've managed to bring a reader into this side of the world.
Recoleta: Increíble, Ms. Hunting! You truly are a great editor!
Editor Hunting: Huh? Why do you say that? Meaningless compliments don't exactly explain all this!
Emboldened by the spirit of adventure, Recoleta brushes off her editor's concerns.
Editor Hunting: Wait. But this is your story we're in, so we can leave whenever we want, can't we?
Recoleta: Oh, no, Ms. Hunting. This story isn't mine at all. It belongs to the cowboy and the coachman.
Editor Hunting: Then, where did they go?
Recoleta: Hmm. I think when we entered the story, we took their places.
Recoleta: Yes, we've become the cowboy and the coachman. Let's not waste any more time. Let the great adventure begin!
Recoleta's voice carries an odd, unquestionable pride.
Editor Hunting: Stop joking around, Recoleta. Can't we get out now?
Recoleta: Get out? Hahaha!
Recoleta laughs so hard that tears start to well in her eyes.
Recoleta: Our legendary adventure has only just begun. How could we cut the tale short? How could we let the readers know the ending so soon?
Recoleta: Of course, as the author, I can give you a hint. Inside this temple lies the "secret core" of the entire story!
Recoleta: Come on, Ms. Hunting, keep up.
Hunting wants to say something, but somehow she feels an irresistible urge to step forward.
Like a growing seed, a familiar yet long-forgotten sensation arises within her.
Editor Hunting: Wait. Don't run too fast.
She follows Recoleta into the mist. Soon, it becomes a fog so dense that it is difficult to see the path ahead.
Hunting grabs Recoleta's arm, forcing her to stop.
Editor Hunting: The scenery's been repeating. Haven't you noticed? We've passed this same pillar at least seven or eight times.
Editor Hunting: I can't see the way through all this fog. Let's just take a breath and take a minute to listen to our inner voices.
Editor Hunting: No, no, that's too abstract. Here, you need to keep the readers' attention. This giant pillar should be the story's MacGuffin.
Recoleta: Does that mean ...?
Editor Hunting: In short, we need to make this pillar a driving force. Let me think.
Editor Hunting: Yes, you need to rewrite this part: The cowboy and the coachman discover something unusual about the pillar in the repeating temple.
Editor Hunting: By touching its four sides in order, East, West, South, North, they finally escape the maze.
Recoleta: Ah, right, right. Let me see.
Recoleta: East ...
Recoleta: West ...
Recoleta: South ...
Recoleta: And North!
Recoleta: Ms. Hunting? Ms. Hunting!
Hunting jolts awake, a dull headache creeping across her forehead.
Was all that just a dream?
Editor Hunting: Did we come back?
Recoleta: We never went anywhere. Did you fall asleep?
Editor Hunting: No, forget it. Where were we in the story?
Recoleta: The cowboy and the coachman just escaped the maze. They're about to head toward the ending.
Editor Hunting: Alright, back to business. There are still quite a few things that need fixing in the earlier sections.
Editor Hunting: Didn't I mention the MacGuffin earlier?
Recoleta: Yes. You told me to cut the whole "listening to their inner voice" scene, which was actually the cowhand's whistle. Instead, I changed the way they escape the maze to interacting with the stone pillar.
Recoleta: But to me, that pillar is just a pillar. It doesn't represent anything. Why does it have to be important?
Editor Hunting: Exactly. It doesn't represent anything. That's the whole point.
Editor Hunting: As Hitchcock once said, "In crook stories, it is almost always the necklace, and in spy stories, it is most always the papers."
Editor Hunting: Take 1942's Casablanca, for example. The transit papers in the film are a classic MacGuffin. They drive all the characters' actions, but their actual details don't matter to the audience.
Editor Hunting: It's purely a narrative catalyst, just like this stone pillar. It doesn't define the story's central theme.
Recoleta: I always thought the term came from Rudyard Kipling's novels.
Recoleta: So this is what it means in film terminology. Interesting. Oh, I should take notes.
Editor Hunting: To sum up, the most important information should always be embedded in the most critical lines. Otherwise, readers might skim right over them.
Recoleta: Fantástico! I've already thought up a few ways to make it even better!
Hunting glances at the night sky out the window.
Time has slipped away.
Editor Hunting: Hold on, little genius, it's getting late. Let's rein in the inspiration for now.
Recoleta: But it's Friday. If I don't get your feedback now, I'll have to wait until Monday before I can talk to you again.
Recoleta: Which means I'll have two whole torturous days of staring at my unfinished ending.
She theatrically clutches her chest with one hand. Hunting sighs, torn for a moment.
After a brief pause, she speaks.
Editor Hunting: Tomorrow night, after eight, I'll have some free time. I usually take some time to myself around then, but I can entertain a guest.
Recoleta: Are you ... inviting me over?
Editor Hunting: Of course. I've got a stack of piping hot revisions just waiting for you to tuck into. It'll be an all-you-can-eat buffet!
Recoleta: So, what you're saying is ...
Editor Hunting: Honestly, your novel has something special, but getting it published won't be easy.
Editor Hunting: Even if everything goes smoothly, we need at least six months to finalize the manuscript. It might not even make next year's book fair.
Editor Hunting: But what I do know is this: I can get your novel into the world, if you can finish it on time.