Blackfeather Woods your wallet is on a permanent diet

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It would've been comical if not for the blood -- but maybe the injury, open and weeping, made things more comical, like someone dealt a hand so bad that the only recourse was to laugh. Like sopping strays making puddles on the doormat of a place they'd never belong to.

Who hurt you? he rasped at the hunched figure of the man, the first words he had spoken that day. What if they're following?

Hailstones chattered on the branches overhead. Beyond them he could just glimpse the massive anvils of storm clouds moving glacier-like, northbound, their innards periodically lit by arcs of lightning. He couldn't help but twitch with every flash.

If they find us, you're fucked. And I'm gone.

He felt foolish for acquiescing to a bloodied castaway at his doorstep. But it was too late now.