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The shadows behind the old rowan tree hid him for now, but for how long. Blain knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to use it, fear of the results sent his head spinning.
The blade glistened in the moonlight. "Where was this made?" Blain asked himself, "and why did Sensi entrust me with it." He cursed him under his breath as a mist started to settle upon field.
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"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world." - Tyler Durden
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