Old Crow wobbled side to side. Whatever fever had hit him had broken in the morning, but recovery was not as quick to return.

“Where are we headed next?” Ghost asked.

“Somewhere we can smile I think.”

Old Crow was still speaking in nonsense and riddles.

“Eventually they’ll wipe us all out. I’ve watched it happen to so many before us. They take and take, then lament that there’s nothing left to suck dry.” Old Crow muttered. He looked sickly. Tired.

Ghost felt a tinge of heat across his chest.


Something had changed.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 24, Old Crow, Pentel