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It was rare that Lazarus felt the need to leave the farm. He was content with his life there and it suited him. The wide open space did a world of good for a man that had been locked behind bars for a good portion of his adult life.
Halloween always brought a devious streak out of Lazarus though and it made him feel like a kid again even though it was his mark of another year passed. It was somewhat magical to have been born on Halloween as Lazarus had been.
His costume was a hodgepodge of different elements all brought together to form a cohesive theme. He had found an old plastic devil’s pitchfork up in the attic of the farm house and the idea had spawned from there. He had whittled himself a pair of horns and drilled a hole in them. They were now painted a garish shade of red and attached to his head by a loop of black bootlace that got hidden due to the color of his hair. An old broken extension cord had been cut and painted the same red as his horns and tied around his back most belt loop to dangle down and look like a devil’s tale. All in all Lazarus was quite proud of himself.
When Wolf had talked he had Lazarus’ undivided attention. Lazarus was a believer that there had to be a good reason to take another’s life. In his eyes the Mountain Lions had, had nothing of the sort. Desperate men did desperate things and when you were starving you stole from those that had more than you. It was the way of things and the Mountain Lion’s were nothing if not gorged pigs on a good day.
When Wolf hopped down from the table, Lazarus pulled a cigarette from his stash. He smoked only on special occasions these days as his supply was getting low. He lit up and took a long slow drag. “So wheres my birthday cake?” He spoke to no one in particular. It wasn’t as if he could find someone that even knew how or had the means to make such a frivolous thing.