[ He'll wait as long as it takes for the other man to pull himself upright and get moving again. It's not like he doesn't understand -- Stampedes all wear their hearts on their sleeves, and this one isn't any different. He's watched another version of this man cry over a total stranger, so it's no wonder that he's broken up over somebody he knew better. Knew longer, at any rate. A version of himself who drove a motorcycle, a Wolfwood who, from the sound of things, had tried to keep his distance from this sad sack, but hadn't been able to stay far enough away.
He'll do better, Wolfwood tells himself, as behind him Stampede finally rises to his feet. He was never going to live long -- he came to peace with that idea years ago -- but stupid Stampedes with their stupid bleeding hearts apparently don't know that kind of peace. So he'll enforce that peace, enforce that distance, with this Stampede, his Stampede, the asshole whose mom lives next to July here, all of 'em. If they hate him, they won't mourn him, right?
He falls into step behind Stampede, also not saying a word. If they're not flapping their jaws then they won't get as thirsty and it'll be an easier walk. Everybody wins. ]
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He'll do better, Wolfwood tells himself, as behind him Stampede finally rises to his feet. He was never going to live long -- he came to peace with that idea years ago -- but stupid Stampedes with their stupid bleeding hearts apparently don't know that kind of peace. So he'll enforce that peace, enforce that distance, with this Stampede, his Stampede, the asshole whose mom lives next to July here, all of 'em. If they hate him, they won't mourn him, right?
He falls into step behind Stampede, also not saying a word. If they're not flapping their jaws then they won't get as thirsty and it'll be an easier walk. Everybody wins. ]