You’ve been in the gang for a few months, give or take; Though you didn’t talk to many of the members aside from Hosea, the man who found you and got you cleaned up. He reminded you a little too much of your dad.

It hurt. It really did.

So, almost by routine, You’d retreated to your tent when most were off to rest, weeping into your arm; because in what way was this fair. Nothing ever seemed fair for you.

Your thoughts were broken by that raspy voice in your tent doorway.

“..The hell?”