"Crown"

"Who's this guy think he is, the ruler of everything? Father Time?" Sundry cracks.

"I don't know," Vice shrugs. Then, through grit teeth, "But I'm honestly kind of scared to find out."

"Nah, it'll be fine," Sundry waves a hand, "The guy's got an ego, but he's not a dumbass. They've got a great thing going on with the Popoquan clan."

"Okay, you clearly did not hear how he talked about them," Vice says, pointing to Sundry, "Every comment bled with sarcasm, you of all people would pick up on that."

"Pfff..." Sundry adjusts the straps on his backpack, patting his thigh to make sure his pistol is still in its holster. His gaze goes left to the fields of wild corn stretching on in the distance. On a hill some miles away, the shadow of a cloud floats across the vegitation.

"You can hate without violence," Sundry finally replies. Vice just sticks his hand out and tilts it from side to side.

"Well, in your experience..." Sundry starts, but then shakes his head, "Never mind. I know it's a touchy subject."

From there on out, the boys' footsteps make conversation for them. Vice fights the memory of his ribcage being cracked. Sundry dances with the apology on the tip of his tongue.

Without words, the boys walk on.

---