Air rushed past as he fell towards death. His billowing pants caught on a crag. He hung there until his pants grew tired of trying to save him, and released him into a controlled roll.

His pant’s seams gave way and dropped him roughly to the desert floor. He ended up with few scrapes and cuts; noting the sun wouldn’t seal in a quarter hour or so.

You must return here by sunset.

The sweet red water and coolness of the mountain revitalized him. With wet balls of mud drying in his hands, he was able to jog.

As the day’s light faded, the wind started to pick up at his back, cooling him and pushing him forward.

A glint caught his eye. The piece of metal he placed in the cell’s window. She was standing there waiting. So was 50&Blond.

He inspected the two while he approached. He learned from Emma to assume that his assumptions were assumptions. See, don’t Look.

They were funny together, the tall rail-thin blond and the petite apple shaped woman; Jack Sprat and his wife.

Thom opened his red fists.