His sage advice always came with a sandpaper-coarse veneer of wisdom. ‘If you get ya ass backed into a co’ner you got to improvise kid, you got to...be creative. If you not in the ring then the rules don’t matter fa’ shit. You gotta fight with some pride but you still gotta do what it takes to walk away with ya life.’ The memory inspired him, forcing him to think reflexively. ‘Be creative, yeah I can do that.’ He hiked his right foot up behind him and at the same time reached down and slipped the. Whimpered in his bunk on the far side of the room, but didn't wake. Graydon lay still, until a wind gust blew a scattering of cold rain across his blanket. He pulled the window down. Laying back, he closed his eyes and listened to the storm as it passed over and then south down the valley towards the sleeping town.In the shadows of his sleep he began to perceive forms, whispers, shifting images barely glimpsed in the shadows. The dreamscape firmed. He found himself standing at the edge of a. More

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