âCan't let you die now can Iâ, was his answer, making sure where it was he stood. There was a reason why he had that reputation that followed him even outside of this town. Why people liked to put a label on him as much as they did any stranger, anyone that did not belong to their circle of righteous lots. Those that did not look below the surface and only saw the grimace of someone bitter, as if he was forced to upkeep the role he had picked out for himself in his youthful vigor.
Some would sit down, maybe, trying to remember if the young man had been any more eager or if he had always been the same. Gruff and harsh, not putting on a mask. It was that exact fact that he did not like pretending that caused the ire of the others. They knew there was not to bargain with him, or to get him to do whatever they wanted. Deep down, beneath all those walls of stone, there might be a heart. It showed sometimes in silent ways. It showed that he was not the type to stand only in black or only in white. As there were times where he simply strode past those asking for help, thinking it not his business or not as great of a problem that it needed his intervention. Because he was kinder than he was good and not the other way around.
At least that was how he saw himself. The one thing that Paukka knew for certain was that the color of the world had long said its goodbyes to him. It was not so much a choice as it was his duty to make sure that this man did not die, even if he looked like he was on the verge of it.
The doctor to take a look at him even if the man had said he did not want it.
With a last glance at the tall figure resembling the image of the pale rider, or someone close to whose name was high up the list, the Sheriff turned and left the building without another word. Walking over to the house and up the timbered wooden stairs leading up to the first floor from the outside, to a sparsely-furnited room. A few moments later he emerged again, dressed in fresh (dry) clothes and carrying with him another set, pressed against his chest to shelter from rouge drops of rain falling, tickled off their perch of roofs and branches by the still strongly blowing wind.
Back on the porch, it was the sound of his boots and the clinking of the spurs that announced his approach again. A more steady pace this time. He had enough time to think and to decide on how to proceed with those strange happenings.
Turning around the corner and into sight, Paukka half-expected to find the man dead in his office. There was no telling whether that blood-sucking thing had gotten to him too. Though too calm for a confrontation, perhaps it was simply shock that he was dealing with. Or denial. People were good at that.
Slowing his pace, not to startle the blond stranger, he placed the stack of dry clothes on the corner of the heavy writing desk. Only then did he turn to face Dieter again.
           âHere. Hope they fit.â
