Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Tired Tombs

sunday, meanwhile. with the man what learns.

Addison wakes in a cold sweat. There's a weight pressing at him, bearing down on the back of his skull: the bandit's stare. The last bit of life in a dying man's eyes—all pulled like thread through the eye of a needle and pointed firmly at Addison's hand and gun and heart.

The gunshot cracks like thunder, and lightning bursts free of the metal maw, but there follows no rain nor wind nor storm. The bandit falls. A man dies.

Murderer.

He was going to kill you.

Murderer.

Something warm and soft and sure presses itself up against him, and he doesn't turn from it. He leans in—curls his fingers into the comfort this mass of fur and heat hath given unto him—and eventually, his heart settles. One of the wolfdogs has curled up next to him. Its chin and cheeks are pale, but through its gray coat run bands and streaks of brown and red, and Addison runs his fingers through the beast's fur—watches how the sunlight bleeds across its pelt.

He breathes, closes his eyes, and then opens them again.

He'd slept on the floor again. Wolfman had offered him a nice quilt and pillow, and he'd found those bags which Jude hadn't taken—namely his clothing, though perhaps if they were a more similar size, that too would be gone.

Someone nudges his foot, and he sits up and spies Wolfman, who's shrugging on his jacket and grabbing a rifle, but now, the fur trapper pauses, peers at Addison's face, and frowns.

"You good?" the trapper inquires. Ms. Pepper's standing next to him, her ears pricked and her tail low, and one of her offspring comes padding up from behind Addison to sniff at its brother.

Addison clears his throat and wipes his forehead with his sleeve, and then he feels around for his glasses, finds them, and slides them on. The wire frame was bent sometime during his fight with Jude, and they sit slightly crooked, now, but the lenses are good and whole, and with a little finagling, he can fix some crooked frames.

"Just had a bad dream, is all." Addison glances down at the wolfdog which lies next to him, and he pats the beast's flank and then ruffles its fur. It's a touch smaller than its littermates, but still plenty bigger than its mother. It's quite the pretty coat it has: all reds and silvers and browns, with an underbelly nearly as pale as snow.

The wolfdog lifts its head and starts beating its long tail against the floor, and its bright, amber eyes peer all wide up at Addison.

Wolfman chuckles. "Looks like he done took a likin' to you," he comments, and a smile's playing at his lips, but then a thought comes to him, and he adds, "Y'know, pardner, it ain't smart to travel alone." Wolfman glances down at Ms. Pepper, who's watching the runt of her litter cozy himself on up to Addison, but then she must feel the press of her master's gaze, because she glances up at the man and starts wagging her tail. "'N Ms. Pepper's pups—they're good workers. Real smart," Wolfman grins at Ms. Pepper and gives her a heavy pat on the head before scratching her right behind the ears, and she voices her agreement with a low woof, "just like their mama."

A dog would be a good thing to have, wouldn't it? Good for hunting and tracking.

Good for bandits.

Addison looks down at himself, pats his shirt pockets and then those sewn into his pants before reaching for his jacket, which he'd laid down neat next to himself. In the inner pocket of his jacket, he finds his watch. It's not gold, but silver's still plenty valuable, and out here, a watch is no more useful than the sun.