The wicked die alone.

[syl-thorn.livejournal.com]

[Just past midnight, Thursday, August 14, day 445]
[The woods]

(Continued from here)

I still really ain't sure where we are. We been walkin' ferrat least a couple hours now, but th'clouds've covered th'moon, an'I can't judge what time't might be. Long 'nough fer th'wound'n m'should t'clot over an' m'arm t'go stiff's old leather. Ain't much else I c'n say beyond'at.

Glass'n me ain't spoken much, partly cuz we's both burnt out, partly 'cuz we wanna stay's quiet's possible. I ain't seen neither'a th'bitches since I left'em trapped'n screamin', but I ain't gonna count us 's anywhere near safe 'til we's outta th'woods 'n safe in our beds.

Pause's we cross into a clearin'. "Any idea how much further we got t'go?" I says inna whisper.


[OPEN to those from the previous scene, and others should they choose]

Comments

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"Half an hour, may be." Less if we ran, but don't think she could manage it. Not particular liking the idea myself, only imagine that if I heard a gunshot I could manage. "Care to try hiding you here, I'll go for help?"