He had the decency at least to don his jacket again, though he had not bothered to fasten it in the front. Now that she knew what he was, there seemed little to gain in burdening himself with extra layers he did not need. He preferred to feel the wind against his skin. It made him more alive. It made him the hunter and not the prey. His fingers curled up with hers and he began to lead them through the slow and unfriendly terrain that they now new was filled with monsters. Or at the very least, one monster.

"Kinda thinkin' we're lookin' at the raw end of that metaphor." A man who could recover from anything ought to have had a more optimistic perspective, but his ability to survive this mess did not mean that they would come to a good end.