"Hey Woody, can you pass me the bag with my clothes in them? There's a draft in here," I shiver under the blanket. He nods and rummages around in the back, handing me a plastic bag with my bloodied clothes in them. I take them out slowly, realising my top is stained with my own blood beyond repair. I grimace and hesitate, passing the fabric between my hands -
"Here, take this." Woody says softly, pulling his grey hoody over his head. He's only wearing a short sleeved shirt underneath and I shake my head, instantly feeling guilty.
"I can't take that, you'll freeze to death without it." I respond. Beside me, Uncle Tobias flickers his eyes over Woody and I, shooting me a knowing look.
"Take it, you need clean clothes. The boy will live," Uncle Tobias says firmly. I eventually nod my head, knowing I don't have much of a choice. I pull my jeans out of the bag and breathe a sigh of relief, only spotting a few patches of blood here and there on the fabric.