Sonya sat staring into the dancing flames of their small little campfire hidden amongst a copse far from the beaten road. All around her, the flickering light cast by the fire in the dead of night played across the faces of her companions and the surrounding trees. She paid no attention to the rough detail of her environment revealed by the dim, lively glow, however. While she stared into the blaze, blank and distant, her mind wandered.

“You there, babe?” Molly asked as she waved a hand in Sonya’s face, attempting to draw her from her daze.

Sonya blinked away her stupor and turned to the redhead. “Yeah, I’m here.” She smiled and reached out her hand to cover Molly’s on the ground next to her. Their fingers wove together, and the feeling was magic, fully yanking her up from the mental pit she was in and into the light where the precious woman waited for her.

“I was asking if we should turn in for the night. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that would probably be for the best.” Sonya agreed.

She turned to Thomas. He sat further from the fire with his knees to his chest, studying the licking flames with a greater interest than even Sonya had been. His eyes seemed fixed on nothing, almost boring through the flames with his piercing, yet vacant, gaze. His hands flexed and curled into claws, white with tension. Dirty nails dug into his bare forearms and punctured to draw blood in little crescents along his skin.

“Thomas?” Molly called out to him from outside his own private world, but he didn’t respond. She stood and began to make her way over to the man, but Sonya extended a hand and grabbed her arm.

“Let me. You set up our bedroll.”

“Our?” Molly questioned, holding back her excitement. “We’re sleeping together?”

“Of course, and I’d be lying if I said it was because we didn’t have enough blankets.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder to the extra roll strapped to her horse. “Are you gunna complain or are you gunna make our bed so I can wrap myself around you tonight? Set up one, or two. Your choice, hot stuff.” She swatted Molly on the ass and the woman let out a small shriek as she took what would have been her first few strides to the horse in a single bound.

The whole thing gave Sonya a big smile. When she turned to Thomas, however, her joy vanished, erasing her grin. The man was muttering to himself unintelligibly, and his body rocked back and forth so slightly it was almost unnoticeable. Sonya now frowned, dominated by worry and caution.

“What’s troubling you?” Sonya asked him warily. She began to roll two cigarettes from the pouch at her waist with seasoned speed and precision.

Thomas, to Sonya’s complete surprise, looked up at her. His eyes focused, but they seemed haunted, the spark behind those windows to the outside world far away and weak. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but closed it again without uttering a single word. Thomas removed his hands from their death grip on his arms and inspected them, seeing the blood caked and partially dried there for the first time. He looked neither confused nor worried to see he had been mutilating himself while lost in a personal void within his own mind.

He didn’t even know he was hurting himself, Sonya thought, bothered.

“Nothing,” Thomas finally said after a long pause. “Nothing at all.” He looked around as if he didn’t know where he was or how he got there, at last seeming to rejoin the same reality Sonya resided in.

“You’re full of shit, Thomas. You know that, right?” She passed him the cigarette she had rolled for him, and he accepted it gladly, although with a shaking hand.

“I guess I can count on you to always call me on my crap,” Thomas said, nearly smiling.

“Wow, you almost swore. I’m impressed.” She meant it but was also keeping the conversation light. Any attempt she could make to draw him further from his thoughts was worth the effort.

Thomas smiled softly, but the tiredness never left his eyes. He grabbed a nearby twig and stuck it in the bed of the fire. Its tip quickly began to burn, and he withdrew it, using the end to light his smoke. He passed it to Sonya, and she did the same.

Thomas smoked in silence for a while, occasionally flipping his cigarette end over end between his fingers. He began to lose himself in the fire once again, but he continued to puff at his smoke, telling Sonya he was still here and not drifting in some inner cosmos.

“So,” Sonya began, “why didn’t you stop and say goodbye to Aimee?” She drew heavily from her smoke and exhaled a large cloud that got dragged off by a gentle breeze.

The mention of the dead lover’s name made Thomas visibly shudder, and the agony he must have felt in his heart rose to the surface and displayed on his face with the barest of contortions. The pain he looked to be in was heartbreaking and Sonya felt for him.

“I…” He rose a hand to the back of his head, rubbing it as if to ward off some hidden ache. “Can we not talk about this?”

Sonya nodded. “Yeah, sure.” She took another puff. “Soon, though, I want you to tell me what’s wrong. Lately, you’ve been off. I understand loss, Thomas. Understand it far more than anyone should, and what I’ve been seeing from you is something more.”

“What do you mean?” He looked found out, nervous.

“The whole day you didn’t say a word to anyone but yourself. You were muttering under your breath the entire ride.” She took one last drag of her smoke, pitched it into the fire, and began to roll two more.

“I’ve just been in my head a lot, that’s all.”

“A lot of people get lost in thought, but few have conversations with themselves. From my experience, that’s called crazy.” She sealed the smokes shut with a quick swipe of her tongue. “Which I know you’re not. So, help me understand what’s going on.” She passed him his second cigarette, which he lit with the same stick, and once again passed it to Sonya.

Thomas was scared to say anything. Sonya could read it on his face. Something was tormenting the poor man, and she feared she could do little to help. This may be out of her hands, but she’d do what she could. She knew he’d do the same for her. It was in his nature.

Thomas puffed nervously at his cigarette. “I don’t know how to tell you what’s wrong. I don’t even know what’s wrong.” He rested his arms on his knees and one of them began to bounce up and down habitually.

“Try me.”

The man’s eyes darted back and forth at nothing. He looked as if he was warring with some inner palaver kept secret from her in the privacy of his mind. Sonya saw him nod his head once and shake it several times. She hoped he was simply accepting or rejecting options in his head, and not holding a conversation with himself. This encouraged her to take another, larger drag from her smoke.

“I…” He started. “I should try to rest soon. I haven’t been sleeping well and we have a long day tomorrow.”

Sonya was disappointed, to say the least. She gave him a sharp glare, one that told him she was serious. “I’m always here. You need me at all, I’ll be ready to help, judgment-free. I don’t fuck around when it comes to my promises, so consider this me making one to you right now. Got it?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, Sonya. I got it.” He flicked his smoke into the fire after finishing it off with a few more sharp drags and stood up. “Thank you,” he added, looking down at her. Despite the show of appreciation, his face remained grave and ghostly. He turned and walked off to his horse to prepare his bedroll, and each of his steps looked to be a colossal burden.

Sonya sat a little while longer, yet again entranced by the dwindling fire and her thoughts. She hoped to Ovaro this matter was nothing more than trauma set into motion by his recent loss. If it wasn’t, she had no idea what else it could be. Colt might know, but he wasn’t here now. She began to miss him more than before and wished for his safety. She knew he didn’t need it though.

After a short spell of fire-gazing, she stood and walked off to get some rest. The spot Molly had chosen to set up their sleeping arrangements wasn’t far, just on the other side of the horses. It wasn’t cold enough to need to stay close to the fire, so she had opted for privacy over comfort, Sonya assumed.

“Of course, you set up one bedroll,” Sonya said with a smile as she approached and saw Molly’s handiwork.

“I’m sorry. Did you want to sleep separately?” She asked with a great amount of timidity as she finished smoothing out the blankets.

“The fact you are so goddamn shy is savagely adorable. You know that, right?”

“Now I do,” she replied with no small amount of blushing. “Is that ok?”

Sonya knelt to come face to face with Molly on the bedroll and bent in close. “I told you, I like the shy type.” She gently grabbed a fistful of Molly’s hair on the back of her head and pulled, forcing the woman to arch her head back. Sonya leaned in with a deep, full kiss and soon introduced her tongue into the passion. They swapped saliva as Molly’s hands slowly rose to cradle her lover’s face with a soft touch. She let loose a tiny moan that escaped into Sonya’s mouth, but then the temptress broke away suddenly, stealing the moment and making Molly hungry for more.

“You’re such an ass,” Molly pouted as she squirmed.

“You’re just now noticing?” Sonya chuckled. “Come on, now. Get comfortable. We need to sleep.”

Molly crawled under the blanket and wiggled into a cozy position, then held up the blanket for Sonya to join her. They snuggled together, Molly buried her face in the chest of her hero as she was tenderly, yet securely, locked in place by Sonya’s greedy arms. They simply held one another for a while, stroking and petting, with soft kisses shared every so often. Molly dug her face in between Sonya’s breasts further than it had already been, nuzzling her warm skin.

“I love you,” Molly breathed quietly, muffled by her depth in Sonya’s chest.

“Hmm?” Sonya questioned, not hearing what had been confessed.

Molly just shook her head and said nothing. Sonya pieced together Molly’s stifled words but kept to herself. She imagined the silly woman was embarrassed and felt stupid. Molly’s confidence on the porch of Thomas’s house had been a one-time miracle with Sonya and was forever behind her. She didn’t mind though, as she adored Molly this way. Sonya loved feeling in control and craved the role of the provider.

Smiling, Sonya kissed the head of the woman she cradled and sighed into her red curls. She felt Molly’s hands run along her skin with experienced tenderness, creating sparks of wonder wherever her fingertips trailed. The sensation persisted as Molly continued to caress and mollify her captor. They both soon became drowsy and fell asleep locked in a desperate embrace

. . .

Far off in the depths of the woods, Thomas wandered aimlessly. Thoughts spun and buzzed in his skull, affording him no relief or peace. The worst of it was the voice, a maddeningly persuasive drone on his conscience that left him sick and weary with dread. It had been merciless in its ramblings and spoke of ill things, terrible things.

She knows, the voice hissed, and she thinks you’re crazy.

“No. She doesn’t think I’m crazy. She’s kind and looks out for me. She’s just worried.” Thomas insisted, fingers anxiously rubbing his temples in a circular pattern.

No, she thinks you’re mad. If she knew just how insane you really are, she’d kill you to protect her stupid precious whore.

“Molly’s not a stupid whore!” Thomas almost yelled it. “She’s sweet. I like her.”

Mmmmm, yes. Sweet indeed. Cut her open and find out just how sweet she really is. I bet she’s delicious.

“No!” Thomas yelled. “What the hell is wrong with me?” He rubbed harder, clenching his eyes shut and willing the voice to cease its insidious suggestions.

Yes! Pry her open and lick the very warmth from her intestines. Oh, how I need it. Give it to me! Tear her apart and nest in her entrails! Do it!

“I?” Thomas questioned. He was so confused and distressed. He had hoped he was just going insane, but the poison in his head had just claimed individuality. Thomas’s heart skipped a beat and he felt cold.

I am you, and you are me. We, us, whatever you want. It was Thomas’s voice, but low and with a hideous growl.

“What are you? What’s happening to me?” Thomas ignored the voice’s lust for butchery.

I am agony, misery, voracity, the voice whispered. You made me, now I’m going to make you. Thomas experienced a vile laughter that ricocheted from wall to wall in his room of thoughts, making him lift his hands to his head and grab at his hair. And yes, you are insane. I can feel the sick urges all around me up here. It laughed again and Thomas fell to his knees.

“Please go away,” the man begged, shaking.

No, no, no. I can’t. If I go away, you go away. Get it?

“Just stop talking. I can’t take this anymore.” He felt like his head would split at any moment.

Then stop thinking. Thomas could feel it grin.

“I can’t do that.”

Exactly. You think, I talk. That’s that.

“So, my thoughts aren’t my own?” His voice wavered.

They are, but I'm here too. It laughed again.

“How do I stop this? I want this to stop.” Thomas pleaded. He wasn’t sure how much of this he could take.

Kill yourself. Do it, do it, do it, do it, it repeated with increasing malice.

“Shut up!” Thomas screamed. He fell to his side and curled up in a ball, clutching at his head. Tears began to well up in his eyes and he gritted his teeth against the tornado that was a mental downward spiral. He could feel himself losing control.

Weak, so weak. No wonder Aimee died. So weak.

“I said shut up!” Thomas started thrashing about and screaming at nothing but himself, kicking rocks and fallen leaves that lay around him, creating a patch of molested earth with his flailing. The wounds on his back ripped open in fresh, warm ribbons and bled for the first time in days. His ribs ached and shot spikes of pain into his sides, but he didn’t notice.

She’s dead, gutted and broken. The thing laughed and licked at Thomas’s mind. They probably raped her. Dead and raped. Stupid girl. Stupid boy.

Thomas felt defeated. He ceased his wild throes and lay in the dirt, torn and hollow, with the thought of Aimee’s fate cycling through his brain. What if they had done more than just kill her? What if she suffered more than he thought she had? Thomas began to softly weep, slowly rolling around on the ground, his face grating against soil and rocks and twigs as he sobbed.

“No,” he softly moaned. “No, no, no.”

Yes, yes, yes. Think about it. How beautiful. Do you think she screamed for you to save her? I bet she did. She screamed as they ravaged her. You never came. She’s dead now. Dead, dead, dead.

“You’re twisted, fucked in the head,” Thomas accused as he lay prone and weak, no motivation to stand.

You’re twisted. Another bout of laughter rolled through his head. Get up.

“Fuck you,” Thomas spat.

I said get up! The voice screeched.

To Thomas’s surprise, he was up. It had happened so suddenly he almost lost his balance. He steadied himself and looked around, confused.

“How did you do that?” Thomas asked.

You did that. We, us. It repeated. Walk.

“Where?”

Back to the others. Go now. We’re hungry.

“Hungry for what? What do you mean?” Thomas couldn’t imagine what the answer would be. To be honest, it scared him. He was still unsure what was happening. The situation was beyond him. He felt as present as someone in a fever dream.

Suffering. Need it. Crave it. Suffering birthed me, birthed you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He didn’t know much of anything at this point. He was still hoping he’d wake up at some point, only to find this was another nightmare.

You will. Go. The voice commanded. And, no, this isn’t a nightmare. It laughed again. At least I don’t see it that way. You might. Again, it cackled.

He didn’t have much choice, so Thomas began walking back to camp. If he didn’t, he was sure he’d find himself back there anyway. The night was a dominating presence that blinded him, but he found he knew where to step. His journey was an easy one with no wrong turns or blunders. It would have amazed him if he weren’t under duress and so, so terrified.

Almost there. The thing said. How it knew was anyone’s guess. Thomas didn't even know.

He saw a faint flicker of fire in the distance amongst the trees. It was low and nearly snuffed, but it was there. As Thomas approached the far edge of the campground, he stopped and hid behind a tree.

“I’m not hurting anyone.” Thomas was planted firm in this and would not move. The last thing he had was his friends.

The voice laughed. Yes you are. If you don’t, then I will. Come on. Just one, just a taste. Thomas didn’t know thoughts could lick their lips, but this thought did. He caught himself mimicking the gesture and quickly stopped himself. I’ll let you pick, the bitch or the whore. Do it.

“No,” Thomas said defiantly. “We aren’t hurting anyone.” He looked around the corner of the tree at the sleeping forms of Sonya and Molly wrapped in their warm bedroll.

Look at them. So cozy, so warm, so in love. Wouldn’t it be tasty if they felt what you felt? Constant misery, agony. You’re depressed, you’re lonely, you’re in pain. It laughed again, a low gravely sound that tore at his minds ear. They laugh at you. Your Aimee is dead, and they have each other. They’re happy they’re not you. They love it.

“You’re wrong,” Thomas whispered. “They don’t think that. I’m their friend.”

Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid. Cut the red-haired whore open from neck to navel as Sonya screams. You want it. You love the thought of it. Admit it.

“I said shut up,” Thomas growled quietly through clenched teeth as he struck the side of his head with a fist. “Shut the fuck up.” As he spoke, though, his hand dropped to the hilt of the knife strapped to his belt. His fingers played across its wood surface, found a brass rivet, and circled its cold metal thoughtfully.

It would be so easy. Thomas was struck with a new fear. The voice was right, but it had been his own. Not the low, repulsive thing occupying his mind, but his.

The imagery that flashed across Thomas’s mind was revolting, but somehow satiating. Thoughts of tearing, gnashing, and wolfing down Molly’s warm organs as she somehow still lived and screamed for Sonya, begged for her help and cried wailing sobs into the night. It made the man wince and fight back with what scraps of mental fortitude he had left. Yet, the thought of giving in felt so…good. He fell to his knees and covered his mouth, holding back the urge to vomit as he grinned. Thomas was hungry. His stomach gurgled and squelched, and he found he was drooling. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve and stood up, doing his best to kill this disturbing appetite, but it lingered, knocking with gentle but definite raps at his mind’s back door.

“Why are you making me think these things?” Thomas asked. “I don’t want any of this,” he claimed, once again grabbing hold of who he was, who he’d always been.

Oh, but you do. We do. If there’s something I want, it’s you who wants it. Stop lying to yourself.

“Why would I want this?” Thomas asked in a frantic whisper. He had long gotten over the fact he was talking to himself. It seemed too natural by now; however insane it might be.

You know why. You’re angry at them for being happy. Every time they touch, every time they hold each other, you want to lash out. You hate it. Thomas could feel that grin again, many sharp teeth on display. He didn’t know it was in fact his own lips curling, his own teeth baring. Look at your hand, it’s shaking. You need a release. Just a little. Go on. No one will miss them.

“I’ll…miss them.” Thomas’s heart sank when he paused mid-sentence. He would, wouldn’t he? His breathing became rapid, and his heart kicked so hard he could feel his chest heave with each thump. The pulse the muscle created made his eyes throb with every beat, and his body shuddered each time blood was violently shot through his veins. All the while, a wide grin loomed silently in the back of his head, letting Thomas have this moment, this realization.

You want this. Again, it was not the voice of the monster.

The broken man focused on only his losses; the things that had been torn from him. He couldn’t help it. The evil thing snaking around his thoughts had been leeching these feelings into him. Against his tempered morality, Thomas needed to feel alive again, needed a rush. This horror crafted of hunger and trauma claimed to know how. Even though he hated all of this, would regret anything done in the name of this nameless swirling hate in his head, he was done. He was too weak of mind to fight its will.

He began to tip his mental scale in favor of the beast, and the pressure baring down on him lifted and something new poured in. The feeling swam through his body and stimulated every nerve like a drug. Thomas’s eyes almost rolled back in his head from the sudden rush of empowerment and wonder. He felt clear, but also numb.

Thomas carefully drew his old hunting knife with eager, sweaty fingers from its scabbard, the edge slid along worn leather, not making a sound. He stepped out from behind the tree and, letting the thing occupying his mind take the reins, and it helped him in avoiding any steps which would alert to his presence. One footfall after another, each one was whisper quiet and fell upon no branch nor crackling leaf. His passage was ghostly, swift and terrifying.

They laugh at me, he said to himself. They laugh and hate me. He didn’t deny it anymore. Somehow, he was sure this was true. Maybe he wanted it all to be true.

When he approached the glow of the fire, he stopped and stared. A lump formed in his throat and a fresh dose of adrenaline coursed through him to bring a tingle to each appendage. From just over the folds of the blanket the two women slept under, Thomas saw a pair of hazel eyes wide open and staring right at him. They shone with such awareness and pierced him like an arrow, freezing him where he stood. A hand moved under the covers slowly, and he knew Sonya had just drawn her blade.

See! She knows! The hiss echoed through him and filled him with more unwanted doubt. The old Thomas struggled to reach the surface of the deep, black water he had been cast into. He clawed with desperate, greedy hands for air, and it must have shown on his face. The war of the insane and the sensible waged complete hell on his understanding of all things.

The false image of Sonya and Molly laughing at all his misfortune flashed across his mind. The fact it was a thought forced upon him became less apparent the more he visualized it. The poison had seeped in deep and was beginning to turn this peaceful man into something that went against his beliefs. All he felt was anger, all he wanted was them to see his pain, all he wanted was for them to feel his suffering. The grip on his knife tightened and his knuckles grew pale with the resolve. He felt his past self being dragged back down to cold, black depths once more.

When he took his next step, Sonya flung open the folds of the blanket and stood up, a long dagger of deadly and agile efficiency expertly held in one hand. Her eyes had no sense of welcome in them. She looked upon him as she would any other threat. Thomas took another step forward, and Sonya bent into a ready position, raising the blade she carried, and orange firelight glittered off its surface. Thomas brought his knife to bare as well, ready and willing.

“What are you doing, Thomas?” The question sounded genuine, casual, as if she cared for his sanity, but her face told a different story. She had been prepared for this.

“I…” Thomas began. Molly stirred under the blankets and his eyes shot to her, his wide orbs eating her up. They exuded pure hunger and he couldn’t help but love the feeling he got when thinking of ways to make her scream. Deep down, he hated all this, didn’t want any of it, but something more powerful was creating order in his mind where there was none. Its influence was intoxicating, and he had already surrendered himself.

“Don’t look at her. You look at me.” Sonya’s voice had adopted a commanding tone while remaining low and quiet, and Thomas’s eyes darted back to her. “Can I convince you to put the knife down?”

A single tear sprung from one of the man’s eyes and crept down his dirty cheek. He slowly and almost regretfully shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.” He truly was.

Thomas merely blinked, and Sonya was already a breath away from him, her length of blade a flash of steel that seemed to cut the very air. His muscles reacted on their own, in a way he would have previously thought inhuman, and he jerked his head back. The tip of the incoming blade passed just shy of his nose, the tiny hairs on his skin feeling its passage. Before he could think, his blade arced up with blinding speed and cut a beautiful strip of crimson into the flesh of Sonya’s stomach. She gasped and rolled back, tumbling in the dirt to put distance between them. The sight of the red, dripping streak was enough to send waves of pleasure through Thomas’s whole body. His knees grew weak, and his breath ran short.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sonya yelled; hand pressed to her bleeding gut.

She strikes first! See it? She wants you dead! The claims filled him and only encouraged his newfound lust.

The bedroll stirred again, and the sleeping woman in its folds sat up groggily. Molly lifted her balled hands to her face and rubbed, chasing the sleep from her tired eyes and yawning. “What’s going on?” She asked as she blinked and took stock of the scene before her. With Sonya’s back to her, she didn’t see the blood. “Why are you two up so late? Shouldn’t we be resting for tomorr…” Then she saw the knife in Thomas’s hand, the slick blood wetting its edge and inviting the occasional drop to fall from its tip. She turned to Sonya, saw her grabbing at her stomach, and her eyes grew wide.

“Stay back, Molly.” Sonya held up a warding hand.

“What’s going on?” She asked with worry rising to dominate her tone. She looked back and forth between the two, hands clutching at the blanket.

Sonya kept her eyes locked on Thomas, her will bent on reacting to any movement he might make. “Molly, I want you to get up slowly and walk away. I’ll come find you.”

“No. I don’t want to leave. What’s happening? Come on you two, calm down.” Her voice shook and she sniffled. “This isn’t funny.” So much was being thrown at her in such a short time. It was all so overwhelming.

“Go!” Sonya yelled.

Molly flinched and began to stand, shaking all over. “But…”

Thomas’s arm flicked out with lightning speed. The knife left his hand and sailed through the air. Everything seemed to slow. The thrown blade careened through the still night, catching and tossing the glow from the fire into unbelieving eyes. Sonya put every muscle in her body to work, pushing them to their limits. She turned and leapt, her own blade coming up in a wide sweep. The edge of her steel contacted the handle of Thomas’s knife, sending it off course. It spun end over end above Molly’s shoulder and sunk into the trunk of a tree just behind her.

Sonya hit the ground hard on her side. She screamed and gasped for air as the cracking of a rib sounded through the silence. She rolled over onto her back, wincing at the pain exploding through her chest. In an instant, Molly was by her side, gingerly holding her face and pressing the blonde’s forehead to her own.

“Are you ok?” She cried.

Sonya lifted her hand up and brushed the woman’s cheek with the backs of her fingers lovingly. “As long as you are.”

Thomas was sickened by the sight. His hands spasmodically twitched into curled claws at his sides, and he started toward the pair, a snarl on his face.

Easy. Strangle them. Choke the life from them.

When Thomas was within a few feet of them, Sonya pushed Molly away and lunged from her downed position. She lashed out with her blade and cut deep into the man’s leg. Thomas screamed, pawed at his fresh wound, and crumpled to the ground, his muscle under the gaping slash failing him. Before he could focus, Sonya was on him, sitting on his chest with a hand to his throat locked in a death grip. Thomas choked and struggled for air, digging at the hold on him with frantic, tearing claws, but Sonya would not give.

She raised a fist high into the air and brought it down hard with monstrous force. Her knuckles dug deep into Thomas’s face, undoing any healing his nose had tried to do. His vision filled with spots and his world spun as dark red fluids gushed from his nostrils. He had no time to think before the woman’s rage plowed into his face again. The fist came away wet and bloody, but again she hammered with all her might. Each blow elicited a harsh shout from the infuriated Sonya as she continued to coat the dirt around Thomas’s head with the gore that each strike coaxed from his increasingly disfigured visage.

After what seemed like an eternity, the rain of fury ceased along with any movement from the crippled form lying soaked and ragged on the cold ground. Thomas’s head swam in a thick, cotton fog before slipping away into blackness. The only sounds to be heard were the crackling fire, Sonya’s exhausted panting, and Molly’s sobs as she was tenderly cradled in a pair of blood-splattered arms.