I hear it. A shout. Layla. “Colt.” Her voice is high-pitched. Frightened. The ax clatters to the ground as I grab my jacket and head in the direction of her voice. “Colt.” She’s yelling louder, swinging off the back of Peaches as I round the corner of the barn. “Layla?” I shrug my jacket on, and my eyes are all over her, looking for injury. Her eyes are hanging out of her head, but she’s moving ok, rushing toward me. That’s when I notice the blood on her hands. “Where are you hurt?” My instinct is to grab her face, but I stop myself, instead I grip Layla’s shoulders as soon as I’m next to her.
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