Cricket Creek Bog if lies were cats you'd be a litter

the contortion of her mien upon seeing the leeches issued from the man a cackle. "they don't sup for greed. they take only what is dead--tissue, clot. and will fall off when they are glutted." 
regardless of his aspect, she remained still, questioning the rusted hardware enfettered to his ruff. "oh, this old thing?" he peered down, nudging it with his gaunt wrist. a cheerless expression washed o'er his features. "i can't get it off. would you help me?" he beseeched, placing a foot forward as if he sought to draw closer to her apprehensive frame.