Nov. 19th, 2012

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Chapter Eight

Woke up the next morning feelin' better than I had in weeks. Somethin' about sleepin' in a bed instead of a bedroll does a body a mort o' good, y'know? (Havin' a bathtub available don't hurt none, either, even without hot water.) Cass looked at me kinda funny while I was gettin' my shirt back on, after she got done with her morning ablutions. "Th' Hell are you wearing around your neck?" says she.

I touched the little leather pouch on a rawhide thong. "Called a gris-gris bag. My Grandmama made it for me. Ain't taken it off in years. Somethin' of a good luck charm." Little bit more than that, but I didn't feel like talkin' 'bout it just then - or ever. Looked out the window at the bright day outside, grabbed up my pack, said "Let's get movin'," just to forestall more questions. No such luck. Read more... )

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