The Sheriff walked in. Anna Cody lay on a makeshift bed by the fireside, unmoving, a pallor of sweat making her skin glisten. A white bandage was tied around her forehead and her hair had been pushed back above it.
She looks no more than ten years old, thought Sheriff Cole. He was used to corpses looking younger than their age, and he whispered "You sure she's alive?" to Doc Morris who now stood beside him.
"For now," Doc Morris whispered.
Anna Cody's grandmother was kneeling on the floor, holding the young girl's hands. Her eyes never left her granddaughter.