Snippet #1304855

"I certainly hope you're right, Al." Drake mused, a deep seated cold chill running down his spine. Images of his mother and father flashed through his head, as did his aunt...but one face in particular stood out. "I most certainly hope you're right..."

Unable to come up with any more encouraging words, Al just put a hand on Drake's shoulder. "Come on," he said, turning back to Sander's unconscious body. "Lets see if we can get the third musketeer up and running again." It seemed that he had spoken too soon, because just after he had finished, the werewolf began to stir.

"Ow," he said. "I feel like a giant hit me over the head with a large club," he mumbled, getting to a seated position and rubbing his eyes. Al chuckled. Drake's tail could most certainly pack that sort of punch.

"I haven't hurt anyone or anything, have I?" [Sander] asked carefully, just to make sure.

"No," Al said, extending his arm down to help his friend up. "You were just freaking out because of that potion thing. Drake had to knock you out so you wouldn't end up hurting yourself. Is your head okay? I can try to heal it if you want me to."