Whitefish River Baddest do, what the baddest do,

A wizened cackle sounded from the woods, putting Riley on high alert. He canted an ear to the sound in disbelief, gradually sussing from the murkwood the scent of Orlaith.

He followed it almost dutifully, coming to a slow halt when he saw his friend disposed on the ground. Several thoughts clamored for equal attention in his narrow mind, but the first to make it out after several blustery seconds of processing was: "what the fuck?"