Yuri found it a challenge to balance his ravenous hunger with his desire to impress David with his superior self-discipline. He could have cleaned the entire pot by himself, if he were left alone with it -- but he calmly and slowly ate, and he maintained an appropriate level of eye contact with David, nodding and giving short affirmative responses.

Jason's ever-souring expression was consistent in the corner of his eye, but Yuri did not react. He didn't care what the strained relationship was between father and son, but he did care that he would now have to keep an eye on Jason. People that weak and insecure had a tendency toward sabotage when threatened. Yuri shook David's hand when it was offered, and he very nearly twitched at being called [i]son[/i]. It was as if David were inviting Jason to make Yuri's life hell for the next few weeks.

He smiled calmly, and he nodded with a grateful squeeze of David's hand. "I am happy and honored for your generosity. You will not be disappointed."

Damn this place.

[hr]

Yuri looked up at the barn with a ghost of a smile, as if it were a five-star hotel. "It is more than enough. Thank you. I will meet you as the sun rises."

He waited by the door of the barn, and watched David go back into the house. As soon as the house door was shut, Yuri's prim posture collapsed into a slouch and he dragged a hand through his hair. "Fucking hell, thank god." He grabbed his bag, tossed it over his shoulder with a rattle and a clang, and shuffled into the slotted dark of the barn.

The smell of hay and wood was thick and fresh, and the noises of the animals were quiet and predictable -- far better than anything he could have expected to find in the house. He clambered his way up the ladder.

A few moments later, a dim blue glow illuminated the loft. Yuri set the lighted jar on a box, snapped the blanket a few times, checked the mattress for rats before he sat down. His weathered boots clunked to the floor and he rubbed the angry blisters on his feet. He hadn't been prepared for a ten-mile run from a hungry set of jagged teeth, and now the soles of his boots were nearly worn through.

He turned out the light and flopped wearily back on the mattress. Out of habit he pulled a small flat compass out of his shirt, forever around his neck by a leather string. He stared at it by a crack of moonlight. The needle did not point North, nor did it waver.

He had a feeling he was being watched. Usually if he ignored it, whoever it was would go away.