He woke her up; he can answer a question. New people tend to get lost in the shuffle of his drifting through, in and back out to the open plains. Things are simpler out there, but something always brings him back. This, he supposes. Kids sleeping on porches. "Heading home, lost daylight and didn't want to crash in the houses by the lake."

Not after what he saw by its edges. Owen doesn't know if that's how it usually works--when most things don't rattle you, the things that do rattle deep, and hard.

Or the wendigo was just terrifying, full stop. "You talk to many people here yet," he asks, hand on a beam and no intention of passing that last step. "Not a good idea to sleep outside if you don't have to. Had some predators through recently."