Something stirs in the leaves in the woods with a small groan, sprawled in the dark. A moment later it scrabbles to its feet using a tree and has a knife out and very much ready to use, breathing hard, eyes probing the darkness. Satisfied that nothing is indeed there, the knife vanishes and he shakes out his shoulders, feeling stiff and sore and
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Then he sees just who that is flopped on a couch. "...Locke?"
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Phedre is around, probably exhausted. Also probably wearing the marks of Henry's last feeding on her neck.
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"Fuck, they're everywhere." More pained than panicking, right now. This is just ridiculous.
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