Knotting the Hunter
"Move on three. Don't break contact. If we split, it gets a back to come at."
"Wasn't planning on leaving you, Hunter."
The words land heavier than I meant them.
He goes still against me for half a second. Doesn't answer. Doesn't have to.
"Three," he says.
We back out of the trees as one thing, slow, his bolt up and my hands ready to stop being hands.
The dark comes with us, that weight, that patience, hungry now and getting desperate.
The treeline thins.
The orange lot-light hits us.
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