The walk downhill wore on her after a time. The pain wasn't in her legs, as it would have been if she had walked for hours downhill a week ago, but now, the pain was in the back of her head. The walking was easy, but she felt like she was getting a migraine, and it could only go away if she stopped moving.
Ben seemed changed somehow; Miah couldn’t tell how, but something was different. When Connor fell into step beside her and said hi, she tried to smile.
“You doing okay?” he asked in a friendly, if slightly gruff, manner.
She shrugged and nodded. “Besides…you know.”
He looked at her feet and gave a nod of understanding. “Yeah.”
They walked on in silence, picking their way down the slight slope. He didn’t make any conversation, and Miah wanted to glare at him. She felt positively hopeless, and the fact that no one had gotten much sleep the night before made finding someone to comfort her a useless attempt.
Gail kept to herself, staring down at her feet and stumbling occasionally. Ben struck out ahead as if to get there first, wherever “there” was, or to show them which way to go; Miah could sense only spite in everything he did.
About eleven, the sun went behind some clouds, and Miah couldn’t help shivering. Gail's sweater wasn't made for keeping the wind out, and it seemed as if every empty space in the knit fabric let in a cold blast of air. She was hungry, she was tired, no one would talk to her, and she wished that none of this had ever happened. She wanted to sit right down and refuse to move. She wanted to kick something.
But they had to keep walking if they were ever going to get help, upon which their survival depended.
“You doing okay?” he asked in a friendly, if slightly gruff, manner.
She shrugged and nodded. “Besides…you know.”
He looked at her feet and gave a nod of understanding. “Yeah.”
They walked on in silence, picking their way down the slight slope. He didn’t make any conversation, and Miah wanted to glare at him. She felt positively hopeless, and the fact that no one had gotten much sleep the night before made finding someone to comfort her a useless attempt.
Gail kept to herself, staring down at her feet and stumbling occasionally. Ben struck out ahead as if to get there first, wherever “there” was, or to show them which way to go; Miah could sense only spite in everything he did.
About eleven, the sun went behind some clouds, and Miah couldn’t help shivering. Gail's sweater wasn't made for keeping the wind out, and it seemed as if every empty space in the knit fabric let in a cold blast of air. She was hungry, she was tired, no one would talk to her, and she wished that none of this had ever happened. She wanted to sit right down and refuse to move. She wanted to kick something.
But they had to keep walking if they were ever going to get help, upon which their survival depended.
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