Mr. Stevenson believes in the stars and (stripes) wrote in repose,
Re: log: grant/matt, the woods
Whatever Grant was expecting, it wasn't that. In the entirety of his life, Grant had never imagined that the single person who knew him better than anyone, who he knew better than anyone, the boy who became the man and the friend that became a brother, he never thought that man would lift a weapon against him. Grant saw the knife coming and didn't do anything to avert it, the entirety of his mind and body focused on the object and wrestling with the disbelief that it could exist. Knife, said Grant's mind, and his heart refused to believe it. Knife, his mind said again, and again his heart said, It can't be.
Finally, it was neither mind nor heart that screamed it, it was instinct. Survive. Do not take injury that could keep you from survival. Live. KNIFE.
Grant twitched, and the knife went through scarf, seam and jacket, leaving a light division of skin that was nothing compared to the sudden rush of adrenaline. He was still standing there, trying to understand what had just gone past his right ear, as Owen disappeared into the landscape as if he had never been.