Fate has come for us all, the cruel bitch.

Gran thought her damnably weak knees would buckle before she made it to Mat. From the porch, she had watched him kicking up dirt as he raced around the cottage, a thing not human hot on his heels. When he had gone down, she leapt from the porch. Never much of a sprinter and her old bones betraying her the whole way, the old woman put all her energy into reaching him, never mind what she would do once she got there. The man in black who had rushed up last and disappeared into the grass stood up and ran a bloody hand through his hair, painting his forehead red. Fear lanced her chest.

"Mat!"