As Famine walks off with Ben, I hear him say, “I can make you more flowers, but if you shit on me, deal’s off.” “Famine,” Pestilence snaps after him. “Relax, Grandpa,” Famine calls out over his shoulder, “Ben’s going to wait until he’s on your horse before he does anything funny.” Pestilence rubs his temples. “He’ll be alright,” the horseman insists to me, dropping his hand.
