Sweat stung his eyes, slid down his temples. Even his jeans were damp. Shorts weren't an option. In the Texas brush, you had the least amount of bare skin possible. Brambles, prickly pear, and every other damn thing that could grow, could and would bite, scratch, or mess your ass up. So, jeans, boots, a thin button-down, and hope you don't get heatstroke.

Wells wiped the back of his hand against his eyes, and came to a stop. Balancing on the sloping rock road, Wells called out. Ten feet ahead, Lorena and Jr halted and then backtracked to where Wells stood.

They took a breath and traded the water canteen around. They spoke little, hardly more than clipped one syllable questions and answers. Despite the sporadic cloud cover, it was hot and very humid, and their patience was thin and their moods lacking. However, fence lines had to be checked, even ones that ran up the side of a mountain.

As Wells was screwing the canteen lid back on, he noticed a spot of light beside his boot. He looked at it a moment, then reached his hand out over it.

“Wells, what are you doing?” Jr asked. Wells ignored him and moved his hand. Judging from the angle, the light was coming from behind him. Their sister took notice, and immediately her eyes caught the shine on the ground. Wells saw that Jr had caught it too.

“What is that?” That was Lorena. Wells straightened up from where he’d crouched down, and he turned around. He jerked back abruptly when he saw a man staring back at him.

His hand snapped towards his revolver and he leveled it at the strangers eyes.

The man, who was appeared to be around Wells’ age, was bedraggled and gaunt, with filthy hair and grimy skin and scars, particularly a thick one circling his throat. His clothes were tattered, though Wells noticed a buckle at his waist. Oddly polished, which he suspected caused the speck of light.

“Who are you?” Wells asked, keeping the gun trained on the man. He was conscious of Lorena aiming her own pistol beside him, and heard the sheer glean of Jr drawing his buck knife. They were in the middle of nowhere and on private property, so yes, they were going to be slightly defensive. Or perhaps hostile was a better word.

Seemingly undaunted by two guns and a blade pointed in his direction, the man took a step forward, smiling with yellowing teeth.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen other people.” Wells wavered a little. He spoke with...breathless wistfulness. “Come with me, you can meet the others.”

“Others?”

“Yes, yes. Though Ginger is still as a fox. She refuses to change back. And I suspect Nova is causing the unfortunate weather. They're not in the greatest moods, but maybe you three could change that.” Alright. So. This was...not normal. At all.

“Alright, why don’t you take us to them?” Both Wells and Lorena turned to their brother, guns still up but ludicrous expressions on Jr. His face tightened, and turning a little he mouthed “Go with it.”

“Good, good. It’s not far, just follow me.” And with that, the man stepped back into the brush and began to head through the cedars. Wells stood, ready to protest, but Jr was shoving them both forward and talking lowly.

“That’s old man Tampki’s son.” The path they were walking was a game trail, which though well used, was still a game trail and that meant low hanging branches and places so thick that they were practically tunnels. Wells was accumulating a nice number of scratches and nicks on his face. A muffled swear told him the branch that slid off his arm just smacked his sister in the face.

“Old man Tampki, the one who lived next to us? The guy who killed himself?” Wells had a distant childhood memory of the man. Healthy as a horse and mad as a hatter.

“Yes.”

“ I though he killed his son too.” Lorena pitched in.

“Yeah, so did I.”

Wells came to a halt, watching the back of the man continuing to walk ahead. He seemed to be talking to himself. Wells swallowed, and said quietly, “I think he tried to.”

*Author’s note* It’d be really damn great if we could get some italics on here. And I hope the subtext of this was apparent.