The wall of the poteaux-en-terre farmhouse from which the two of you have been observing the nearby skirmish explodes inward, showering the room with bousillage and timbers, while shards and splinters from the shattered shutters pelt your face. The stonework chimney teeters precariously, spraying sparks on the palmetto fronds that were once the roof, but which are now mostly scattered across the floor.
Your companion is a vampire. A blood-drinking creature of the night, several centuries old, who has recently taken you as a companion.
The collapsing house pins one of you under the wreckage. The fronds are already starting to smoulder from the errant sparks. Consider carefully, which of you is the one that is pinned?
He is the one that is pinned.
I am the one that is pinned.
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