Paul William Fassett- Randon and Iggy prepare for the unwelcome company of others.
For a long time Randon just watched the boy from the corner of his eye. Sizing him up. Unsure of what the boy might do if frightened. Mostly though, he was trying to figure out if the boy was worth helping. It wasn’t like he had a backup plan should the boy eat up all his food. Hell. Maybe the boy would have been food if he had been more than flesh vacuum sealed over bones.
Randon was a Patriot, that’s what they called him now. Like it was some dirty word. Branded a Patriot like someone would brand a witch, and hunted like one too. In his life long passed he was a full fledged member of The Council of Twenty, but he worked his way up to it, and she knew every little dirty secret he ever had. Every underhanded, sneaky, and terrible thing he’d ever done, willfully, or by complete chance. She called him the man with the overactive pen.
“In a couple weeks, however, he was well enough to go about his life. At least he would have something interesting to talk about if he ever saw another living being again.”
“This place was in his dreams, and every waking thought. Only now it was real, and right in front of him.”