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Summary
The wind drops, suddenly, and the swirls of billowing snow settle between them slowly. Arthur squints as the figure becomes more defined, familiar but… not.
Wrong.
John Marston stands at the top of the crest of the mountain covered in snow and blood. There’s a dead wolf pelt with the head still attached wrapped around his neck and shoulders and he drags two more by the tail behind him. Four violent gashes cut through his cheek and up over his nose.
It’s hard to tell how much of the blood is his and how much is from the wolves.
“The hell, Marston?! You kill those with your bare hands?” Javier demands, looking shocked.
John makes a face that might be intended to be a grin but it’s all teeth. It makes the cuts on his face weep and Arthur feels himself wince in sympathy. Those must be painful.
“I had a knife.”
Or
John closes his eyes on Beechers Hope and opens them to teeth at his throat.
Series
- Part 1 of Sunset in Purgatory