dying in L.A.

Shaye helped their new charge onto Rhyme’s back, he could feel the emaciated figure cringe as he was positioned. His pain couldn’t be helped, they had to get him off the border and somewhere he could start to recuperate. He silently thanked Shaye for explaining all the herbs she had planned for their charge. He was a decent healer, having Rhythm as his mother, but he hadn’t been able to practice much in previous years.

She was also quick to give him orders, thinking in relative similarity to himself. Someone to keep an eye on their charge and more patrols where he had turned up. He couldn’t argue with anything she said either, the plan was solid and once the black cripple was where he needed to be Rhyme would get to his orders. "You’ve no argument from me." He offered, "Thanks for the mini lesson too." He added a bit more quietly as she wondered aloud at his origins. Rhyme hadn’t quite been able to think about his suspicions but he stopped suddenly when the boy said his name.

His eyes widened as he craned his neck to look at the scarred boy. The uncanny similarity to Rhythm’s features, the scars oddly reminiscent of those often worn by slaves. And his name. Epitaph. His mind recalled the dark furred pup with impossibly green eyes. Just like his father. "Shaye, did you notice how much he looks like Rhythm?" He asked, unable to keep going until his thoughts had been put into the open. "I could be wrong, but I think he’s an escaped slave. My half brother."