Exton

Jean-Marc is much the worse for wear as the old man and I drag him, kicking and cursing and screaming, to an old metal chair sitting just outside the shed. It's the kind of thing that was popular back in the 50s, sturdy as hell and without a single weak point about it anywhere. He's too battered to offer much resistance, and after we make a kind of cat's cradle out of the Fenris rope he can't move anyway. I suppose he could use his legs, but for what? He's not going anywhere with this big bloody chair tied to him, werewolf strength or not.