Vincent van Gogh Roses

dared to swivel his eyes sideways. Although the second figure rising from the hole was also wearing a filthy robe, there was no mistaking the paintbrush hairstyle.
He tried to say "Urn?"
"Shut up, "The Turtle Moves?" he ventured.
The knife was withdrawn, with obvious reluctance.
"I don't trust him," said the man. "We should shove him down the hole at least."
"Brutha's one of us," said Urn.you," said the other man, pressing the knife to his throat."Brutha?" said Urn. "You're alive?"Brutha moved his eyes from his captor to Urn in a way which he hoped would indicate that it was too soon to make any commitment on this point."He's all right," said Urn."All right? He's a priest!""But he's on our side. Aren't you, Brutha?"Brutha tried to nod, and thought: I'm on everyone's side. It'd be nice if, just for once, someone was on mine.The hand was unclamped from his mouth, but the knife remained resting on his throat. Brutha's normally careful thought processes ran like quicksilver.