"I'll try," Raylan promised, tangling their legs together. "However I can."

The name seemed natural in Raylan's mouth, so he didn't give it a second thought. He was sure that Malcolm had a middle name; everyone in the North seemed to, says the man with his own, but both the Whitley and the Bright had to be acknowledged. He was neither. He was both. Malcolm was a conflict of names and it perfectly fit the chaos of the man.