#fromjean

Muz winces, his boot scuffed and ankle protesting with every step. The twist in his ankle had been minor at first. Out scavenging and being unlucky enough to catch some uneven ground, but now it felt like his whole foot was throbbing in rhythm with his pulse. Muz leans against the doorway, and clears his throat.

'Got a minute?' he asks, voice low but laced with a faint humour he likes to keep handy. 'Ankle’s arguing with me. Figured you’d settle the score.'