Can't hug a memory...5 liters...
“You really do believe your tribe is dead, don’t you?”
"Garrett positions a piece of flank meat over the fire. “I try not to think about it, but yes, I know it in my bones.”
“You’ve been wrong before, often.”
"Garrett chuckles as he considers the dim light shining through the partially buried cabin window. “For a fact, I have been.” He lowers his voice, “Not about this though. They’re dead, or scattered, or worse, enslaved. Make no mistake, I’ll go west to find out their fate and I have no illusions about what I will do to those who roam that territory now, but you and Melissa, hell, even the old man over there, you all deserve a place away from horror.”
“Well, you said it already, we’re partners, if there is revenge to be had, you won’t exact it alone. You deserve a place away from the horror too.”
"Garrett plays his part. He nods and smiles in response as he watches the meat cook. He eats his words, letting them float around in his head instead. Horror follows me like a shadow. I remade myself in order to dispense unpleasantly. Any meadow I sat in now would find a way to whither, poison fruit of the poison tree."
