Emberwood gunslung

colt briggs wasn't alone for long. a hangdog boy came to amble nearby, half-grown and ragged with travel. the wounded man snorted. injured or not, he wouldn't be caught unawares, and the crimson eyes said it.
"best fuck off, kid," colt said in a friendly manner, spiting birch juice into the snow. "i ain't fit fer company. seems those who keep it with me are destined t'suffer pretty bad." colt kept up his shuffling gait.