If he had known he was going to hit the nail so succinctly on the head, he would have chosen a different set of words. But Mathis, like any other temperamental ass, had her M.O. She liked her storms, her raging rains and lighting, the fury from the sky that reminded Raylan too sharply of his conversation with the sniper the day before.

Was a bloodletting really going to stop this? Was it something they even dared tried? Would Mathis not take that soul for keeps? Deny them the miracle of revival that Mathis somehow had?

There wasn't much room to ruminated on it with the way the weather was beating against him, slapping the lapel of his coat against his neck like a furious lover. He could barely see the figure in front of him, but his gut told him who it was and he pushed harder into the wind towards.

"TIM!," he yelled as loud as he could, feeling the name torn away from his lips. Where the hell was he goin'?

Once he was even near enough to do so, Raylan stretched out a hand, ready to grasp and fist it into Tim's jacket and pull him closer so he could talk into his ear. "What are you doin' out in all this?"