It's probably not long-term healthy to eat like you're in an '80s cop movie, but the black coffee and the box of Timbits revive you as you consider your next move. You let your brain sift through everything you saw. What was that weird lance the rider had? Could you activate that ruggedized tablet? Did killing the horse kill the spirit that took it over, or is it skulking in the spirit world, waiting for another host?
Where's the nearest stable? You could ask around if any horses have gone missing!
You've always been pretty bright, and as you swallow another Timbit and wash it down with scorching-hot coffee, you're feeling confident. But then—maybe it's the artificial texture of the dough ball or the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights, but you wonder if Black Tarn is right. Maybe the old witch knows the truth, maybe Gaia is dead and her protectors are like a ewe protecting her dead lamb from the ravens…
The hopelessness hits you like nausea, so hard that you feel sweat bead on your temples. You slug the rest of the coffee and try to ignore your doubts. But now the meal feels hot and toxic in your stomach. Gaia's invincible warrior, and some cheap food and fluorescent lights make you feel sick. You walk outside, letting the clean cold air hit you. That's when you spot movement on the far side of the lot, where the semis are parked.
Black Tarn darts between two trucks, still in the form of a huge wolf. She freezes, bewildered, as if she's never seen a parking lot before, never seen the normal world of signs and maps. Then Scarper appears, dragging what at first glance looks like a huge black plastic trash bag with someone in it. Did they bag another monster? But then you recognize the screams and growls coming from the thing Scarper is dragging: it's Clay. A moment later, you realize that it's not a trash bag at all. It's Clay's flesh, shifting and sloughing off, leaving a trail of black filth between the semis.
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