Lost Creek Hollow mr. ghost goes to town

Words spilled forth and lured him in just a bit closer, if only so he could pick up on the way that voice rasped and shook. For what few steps he took to draw himself in to listen, Mordecai could pick up on those finer qualities and found that if anything, the wolf accurately described himself. He was an ugly thing, threadbare and broken well beyond repair that the Ostrega could have imagined. It came to him readily that it was no surprise for him to be chased, as the tension for him to do the same resided alive and well.

But at least he heard the fellow out and with good reason — if he had only just escaped his pursuers, then Mordecai had every reason to believe that they too were not far off. "From where?" he asked, feeling his jaw set uncomfortably. Perhaps not too uncomfortably, as the floppy hinge the other sported struck him as unquestionably worse. And then there was that cough, that overall malaise that got him to fire off another question.

"What's wrong with you?" May as well have been Jinx and rabies all over again.

At least that was where he felt his thoughts go for a split second.