Once he'd managed to get the wound sutured, the vampire made his way unsteadily to the sink to wash off the blood from his wounds and his enemies. His head pounded despite the morphine and it made his side feel like merely a small ache in comparison.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James had expected to go outside alone, but Siren squeezed through the door ahead of him with the excitement of a child. He wasn’t going outside to play, and when he’d said explore he hardly meant for fun. He was going outside to look for answers, but the look Siren gave him as she paused in the doorway was filled with a youthful, childlike kind of carefree attitude that made him feel out of place.
At least, that was how it was with Siren. He glanced back behind them, into the kitchen, by the sink.
Kratzer was another story - being near-death, stoic, in pain, and caring for his wounds. He’d been in similar situations himself, but it wasn’t like he wanted to commiserate about near-death experiences.
That was, in fact, the last thing he wanted to do. He was trying not to think about what almost just happened.
So when Siren split off with a sudden burst of energy, bounding up the hill, James followed. Granted, she was moving fast, and he was tired, but he also didn’t want her to do something that could get her hurt. If what he’d seen in the house proved anything about her, it was that she was young and curious and completely unfamiliar with their surroundings. But that made sense. He didn’t really know what she was, but she was certainly not from a place like this one.
Spoiler! :
THIS DREAM THAT WE THOUGHT WE WERE SAFE TO FORGET, TO BURY AND SAY OUR ADIEUS
ON THE DAY OF THE FOOL, DEATH WILL TURN A BLIND EYE, AND YORICK WILL DUST OFF HIS SHOES
WHEN THE REAPER DOTH LAY DOWN HIS TERRIBLE SCYTHE TO FOLLOW THE WARM WEATHER WEST
YORICK, PUT BACK ON YOUR DANCING SHOES, AND RISE UP TO CALL FORTH THE NEXT.
Why was he so slow? Grownups were always so slow. Siren always wondered if she'd understand when she got a bit bigger, but she never did.
Siren had run up and down the full length of the hill at least once, with frequent stops to look at a grasshopper, or a ladybug, or a snail, and then show James the grasshopper, the ladybug, or the snail, and he'd still only made it a quarter of the way.
...But he did look very tired.
Siren slowed down, and put down the marmalade jar as an offering, so he could regain his strength.
She gave him a sticky pat on the chest, and scooted up a tree after a squirrel. She'd never seen a squirrel before.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
James couldn't will himself to move any faster. He couldn't see out of his swollen left eye, and his body was aching. He felt like he was watching Siren, but felt too slow to respond before she'd run off again.
When she set down the jar of preserves and ran off, he sighed and plopped down into the lush green grass.
Siren was chasing a squirrel. He wouldn't put it past her to eat it if she caught it.
He looked down at the ground and saw a worm poking out of the ground, and he dug his hand into the dirt and pulled it up. Maybe he could convince Siren to sit for a moment. He didn't think he had the energy to keep up with her for very long at this rate.
"Hey, Siren," he called out weakly, dusting away the dirt so the worm was wriggling in his hand. "Look at this."
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