Gray & Savannah
Gray looked back over his shoulder at the prospect tasked with watching him for any signs of zombification. "Son," he said, "would you mind?" He jerked his head toward the bag Savannah had brought with her. It was thoughtful, but it still didn't erase the sting. Didn't ease it at all. In fact, made him a little more frustrated. The prospect took the bag, offering it out to Gray. He shook his head. "Go on through it. If there's short sleeves, you offer it to anybody it'll fit." He'd never wear short sleeves again, and if he wasn't going to use them, he might as well make sure somebody else got them. "Reckon there's somebody here my size."
He swung his head back to Savannah, blue eyes darker and more troubled than they'd been even after being shot. More angry.
"I appreciate it," he said. "Kid'll find me what I can use out of it." He tucked his hands into the pocket, ignoring that it hurt, because he didn't want to talk about the bandages around his palms and fingers. Didn't want to talk about any of it.