488 words. 313 pages total. Sara gets help tying her shoes from a Buddha of dubious material. She’s got one of the Hounds' swords, they have her memory of Penemuel. Up to the roof we go. I’m having one of those days when I think this might not be utter crap. I just knew that if I wandered around in the fog long enough, shouting loudly enough, the story would find me again.
Jeff told me it's his Houston Relatives, not the Port Authur folks, who are holed up with the fried chicken and whiskey. He thinks that would be a great title for a story. Hell, Jeff, Fried Chicken and Whiskey is a bluegrass song waiting for Bela to make it happen.