Jason remembered few faces and few names, his mother was the first. But you were the second, the kind one, as he thought of you. One who treated him well when he was younger and weaker. His mother liked you too.

Even if you look upon him in fear now, he wouldn't hunt or hurt you.

He picked you off from your group, mindful not to walk over thorny bushes as he dragged you across the forest floor. He knew his strength; he wouldn't break your arm.

He found a cabin far from the others and dropped you onto the carpet by the fire. Pat pat. His hand was covered in blood, dripping down your face as he did what his mother usually did when comforting.

He motioned to the ground with a finger, telling you to stay. His footsteps were heavy as he went to find a way to lock you inside until he's done.