SixteenA little way from the river, a small camp was set with a fire, an iron pot placed upon the flames. It bubbled and steamed and Leo stirred it with a large wooden spoon whilst the woman sat on a rock, swathed in a blanket, the shotgun in her lap. “You better tell me the whole thing, mister. My patience has all run out.”
Clifton sat across from her, his arms wrapped around his chest, hands tucked under armpits, wishing he too had such a thick, warm looking blanket. The temperature continued to drop markedly and a quick glance to the sky told him all he needed to know. Gathering clouds, dense, grey and ominous, spoke of a snowstorm.
“I don't know all the details,” he said, teeth chattering, “but I could sure use some of that stew.”
Her eyes never flickered. “You can have some when yo
