Overture Downs make your peace

Legs press against his chest, thin and twig-like. Easy to snap, if the Wayfarer chooses to roll his own weight the wrong way. He exhales, chest expanding against Ghost’s pressure with each breath—

His lips release from their curved prison, and back with the mask of neutrality he stands. Each harder struggle makes the Wayfarer crush his weight downward, the sharp complaints of pain ignored—far from the worst he’s suffered.

Then eat, he says as if Ghost’s dilemma is easily solved, get fatter.