I hollered at Benedict that we had to go back—no point to this, we were just going in circles—but it’s like he didn’t hear me. Probably couldn’t what with all this wind. I tried to grab his jacket to get his attention, but I just fell face-first into the snow. Goddammit. I got up as best as I could, and Benedict hadn’t seen a thing.
I could feel my temper coming on. I loaded my gun. I sure felt tempted to aim it at his ass so he’d think twice about dragging me outside in this kind of weather, but I didn’t.
I shot the one round in the air. He jolted and turned around with a wild look. He must have thought there was an animal. Like there’s any animal as stupid as us, going out in a blizzard.
I made it clear with my hands that we had to stop, that we needed to go back before things got worse, but he stayed put, well, as put as anyone can stay when the wind’s blowing this hard.
Benedict waved back at me—that was his way of saying I could go home if I wanted—and then he turned back around and kept on going God knows where.
Old Magnus would have understood that there was no use. But I can’t make heads or tails of Benedict, maybe because I don’t have kids. Seeing him grow up with his brother, that was kids enough for me. Sully’s son too. I was the one who brought what was left of his body to his father. Sometimes bears don’t turn up their nose at a bit of man meat, especially when the man tried to shoot you down.
Maybe I’ll end up having to take another body to another father. Not hers, though. She can rot right where she is.