Duck Lake little dark age

Exit unless stopped! Thanks for the thread.

The stranger's smile disappears. He is sure that this is the end. Cochise squints and looks away as if shying away from a bright light, but what he's really doing is making sure that he's going to die with his eyes closed. A few moments pass. 

He is still alive. 

A sigh of relief is straining at his lungs but he must remain in control. He tears off each wing, worrying it back and forth until it comes away with the sound of ripping wet paper. 

He must remain tense. He must remain conscious of the knotted bodies, how one step of the stranger's equaled nearly two steps of his. When he is safe, as close to safe as possible, then he can cross his arms and wait for the world to make sense. For now he takes the wings with the same coarse and jutting motions of a man with a gun to his head. 

In a dun blur, scattered feathers, he's gone.