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The nip is nothing, Charon hardly feels it. He uncaps the needle and best he can, squeezes together some of the meat of Charon's lower calf. Technically, it is an order, but it contradicts every instinct Charon acts on. "Knock it off with that shit," he mutters. Lone quirks his eyebrows and gives him a pitiful look, his lips plumping into a frown. "I understand if you sell my contract," he says, his voice firm. Lone is tightening the brace when Charon reigns his mind into focus. Legs weren't swiped from beneath him by a raider with a lead pipe.Ĭharon slipped on shale. Was scoping out the horizon for potential threats. Lost balance coming down from a cluster of rocks.

Touches the gnarled flesh of his foot and ankle, prods and asks how badly it hurts, what kind of pain. Charon moves it himself, feels his boot roll like a socket wrench. Then Lone's hands are on Charon's midthigh, trying to crank his leg up and onto a rock. "I have a brace," he sputters, dropping into a squat.

Lone skids across the loose rock and Charon shoots his hand out, grabs the boy by the forearm. So was the sharp gasp that punched out of Lone. Charon, in his shock, half frenzied by a spike of adrenaline, looks down at his leg and does not process what has happened for a good few seconds.