Tate
Groaning and coughing, Tate rolled over to the side of the bed and spit out a mouthful of blood onto the wooden floor below. He rolled back over and glanced out the window to where the camp had been, his spirits sinking. He had found out that the campers had been watching the house instead of camping for recreational purposes when Warmuth came in and beat him until he was black in blue. That had been his rescue party and now they were gone. He doubted they would come back. He hadn’t been to the window in days. They probably assumed he was dead. If he had more strength, he would have gone out to meet them, but not eating or drinking anything had taken a toll on him, more so than the supposed wolfsbane. And now, in his weakened state, he was struggling to heal. All he could manage to d
