[Milliways] White Upon White

[dejah_thoris]

He'd only left an hour ago.  Darkness had fallen and the storm outside was screaming and tearing at the building.  It was lunacy to go out in this weather.  But he was out there, and in only the clothes he'd put on this morning.  He and Edgar both.

They'd die out there, surely, if they didn't get a move on.  

Woola whined at her, picking up on the desperation she felt crawling down her spine.  She'd put on her winter coat and boots, and taken the goggles bar had given her.  Ellen and Ysalwen were already waiting for her at the backdoor.  She handed each of them one of the electric lanterns Bar had provided.

"Are we ready?  Do we need anything else?"  

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar leans against Ellen's arm, trying hard to stay aware of what's happening. Some unfamiliar, crackling voice is answering her in words that he can't make cohere into a sentence -- copy that, Team A, hurry back -- and he wants to ask who it is but gets distracted by the need to move again, stumbling in the snow.

At least the wind isn't buffeting then anymore.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah clenches a fist across her chest, trying to still ever-increasing shivering. Her other hand grips around Curtis's waist and she is eternally grateful for Ysa's help. She can't feel her feet, so she has to focus very hard on where she steps.

She keeps her head down and follows in Woola's and Liranan's tracks. Good calot. Good mabari. Praise Issus.

She cuts a glance at Curtis. His complexion is ashen, and his lips are almost white. "One foot in front of the other, right? We know how to do this."

One foot.

In front.

Of the other.

[2goodarms]

Yeah. He can't find his voice, but Dejah can feel a wisp of bleak determination like the tiniest puff of breath.

Curtis moves not because of a desire for safety, but because he doesn't know how to do anything else. The cold's reduced him to a thoughtless machine: one step, and another, and another. If he stops, he doesn't think he'll be able to start again.

But as they keep moving, the cold doesn't seem quite as bad. That might not be a good sign, he thinks, with no concern. There's another light up ahead, too, not as bright as the fire but growing steadily larger; they slog toward it together, following a path that he didn't know was there.

(Together. That's the important part. They've got each other, and he's got Edgar, and it's going to be okay as soon as he gets some rest.)

It feels like hours. He's focusing so hard on putting one foot in front of the other that eventually, he almost bumps into a wall. No, a door: someone reaches out to put their hand against it, and pushes, and it gives way into the brightness of Milliways.