Jack watched Riddick as he began to walk towards the town.
"Imam?" she questioned.
Imam knew what she wanted. "Yes, child, let us follow Mr. Riddick."
The two commenced walking, about fifteen paces behind Riddick. Jack could see that he was struggling with the pain of his wounds. His bald head was covered in sweat and he was limping, favoring his wounded leg.
'Where those monsters got him,' her mind whispered.
She told it to shut up and continued walking next to Imam.
No matter how much she tried to think about other things, her mind was always drawn back to him. The man that had saved their lives. As much as she hated the way he made her feel, she admired his courage, his strength. And, in a way, she was jealous of him. He never knew his parents, therefore it made it easier for him to detach himself. It almost gave him an excuse. She, on the other hand, wasn't as lucky. If and when she told people that she had run away from home, they always asked her the same thing. "Why did you leave when all you had was right there at home?"
She was always tempted to tell them what her father did. The sick freak he really was, the disgusting things he made her do. Instead, she'd look down at her feet, shrug her shoulders, and find something else to do besides talking.
Jack was also jealous of his emotional status. He wasn't into sugar coating, as were so many other adults she had met since leaving her home almost a year ago. He told her the facts straight, no matter how much it scared her. And he never let his feelings show. She figured that crying was quite a foreign emotion to Richard B. Riddick.
Her attraction to him was more than just a crush, more than lust. She wanted to be with him, but she also wanted to be him. His level of strength was something she was probably going to need in the years to come.
"Imam?" she questioned.
Imam knew what she wanted. "Yes, child, let us follow Mr. Riddick."
The two commenced walking, about fifteen paces behind Riddick. Jack could see that he was struggling with the pain of his wounds. His bald head was covered in sweat and he was limping, favoring his wounded leg.
'Where those monsters got him,' her mind whispered.
She told it to shut up and continued walking next to Imam.
No matter how much she tried to think about other things, her mind was always drawn back to him. The man that had saved their lives. As much as she hated the way he made her feel, she admired his courage, his strength. And, in a way, she was jealous of him. He never knew his parents, therefore it made it easier for him to detach himself. It almost gave him an excuse. She, on the other hand, wasn't as lucky. If and when she told people that she had run away from home, they always asked her the same thing. "Why did you leave when all you had was right there at home?"
She was always tempted to tell them what her father did. The sick freak he really was, the disgusting things he made her do. Instead, she'd look down at her feet, shrug her shoulders, and find something else to do besides talking.
Jack was also jealous of his emotional status. He wasn't into sugar coating, as were so many other adults she had met since leaving her home almost a year ago. He told her the facts straight, no matter how much it scared her. And he never let his feelings show. She figured that crying was quite a foreign emotion to Richard B. Riddick.
Her attraction to him was more than just a crush, more than lust. She wanted to be with him, but she also wanted to be him. His level of strength was something she was probably going to need in the years to come.