Posts by Camomile Vixentail

Every moment, between every rapid, thundering heartbeat forced into his ears like toothpaste squeezed to the cap of the folded tube, Perry saw his gruesome death. Snarls and growls echoed in his head seeping down into his soul and drenching each and every living cell in his body with terror. Thump. The wolf dove into the hole in a silent glide down. Thump. It's piercing, merciless eyes caught sight of him just as his own struggled to differentiate the shaggy fur from the shadows playing on the rocks beside him. Thump. It leapt at him and in one snatch, it would rend his face from his skull like skin from a fruit and devour him like the prey he was. Thump. Every second was the same scenario again and again, but with subtle changes, like a recurring nightmare he was never given the reprieve of wakefullness from. The wolf was instead wolves that tore his limbs apart like snapping chopsticks. The wolf was undead, feasting on living flesh to sustain it's abominable existence. The wolf was 10 feet talk and could hardly bend over in such a space to snap at them but scooped him out with a paw. The wolf had the face of those birds and skewered him from the top of his skull down and through his chin to hook him out. Inside it's mouth were the gruesome rotting masks made from what had once been the faces of his friends.

Who knows how long his mind managed to abuse him in this way; hours? No, it was probably less than a couple of minutes in reality. His body couldn't tell the difference though. Still, eventually his heartbeat began to subside and he noticed that outside the onslaught had ceased and once again, silence reigned supreme. Catching his breath now and then to try harder to listen around it, he was unsure of himself for a minute or so more before he finally gave into the idea that, for the time being, they were being left alone. He could feel the muscles in the woman beginning to unwind and felt her breath on his shoulder beginning to steady. She did not let go, and so neither did he. He tried to think of what he could do, and there was literally no worse time for it, but as he laid- or more aptly scrunched- down there with her, listening only to her breath and his, alternating inhales and exhales, noticing that Surprise she was warm, he felt his cheeks flush and his ears heat up. He had neither the desire nor the energy to deal with that and he rolled his eyes at himself.

Get a grip. He thought. He was no middle schooler, geez. Instead, thinking of how she might be feeling, he rummaged around his thoroughly spent mind looking for the right reaction. The only file he could pull right now- though let's be honest, he was hardly firing on all cylinders at that moment- was to pat her back and give her head a few gentle strokes. The hand in question was still quite shaky and couldn't raise itself up very far to complete the act, but he did the best he could. At least for now... for now, they were okay. In literally any other situation, including a night where nothing else had gone wrong except for a regular wolf pack attack, maybe a bear chase, and the g*dd*mn KKK running around in trucks he would have probably suggested scooting out from under the overhang to give her some space and spread out their limbs- if they hadn't been able to see into the cave nothing normal would be able to see them. But not now. Not with the kind of creatures that shouldn't exist at all lurking around every corner and who knows what that had yet to reveal itself. Who knows what powers, abilities, or skills the horror forest around them granted to it's inhabitants. No, for now, he stayed under the cave shelf where at least once before on one creature, they had managed to fend the problem off.

With the small space and pressed closely together, no longer at the whim of the wind, Perry could feel his blood beginning to circulate more warmth to his limbs than cold. Of course that exacerbated his wounds and he could smell the blood coming off of what had to be both of them, but even still he felt much safer. He wondered if she had been okay with him pulling her. Maybe she would have wanted to fight it off, actually fight it. She did have a weapon on hand. All he had was... was...? What had he brought with him? In his jacket pocket he kept a lighter- everyone in his group did. What else? He'd brought... a stick of gum Gale had given him to clean his mouth since no one thought to bring toothbrushes. In his breast pocket should still be his cell phone, but even if it wasn't broken in all this he would have put good money on the bet that there was no reception wherever it was they were. No, he had nothing but his hands and, really, just hand. Cradling the swollen thing against his lap, he braced for the pain of squishing it there, but as the pain began to subside to a throb, he felt it was time to let go. Scooting just as close as he could to the woman, he began to relax, sleep coming for him fast. With the last vestiges of conciousness still available to him, he wondered why he had not done so sooner and took a breath, mumbling out his words- he was near her ear, no need to be loud,

"My name is Perry. Thanks for saving me."

Most of the time when Perry sleapt, his circadian rhythm was so off that he awoke without remembering what it was he'd dreamed about. About as soon as he let his eyes shut, Perry's mind, desperate for regenerative sleep, dropped him like a brick straight into the deep sleep 4th level of the REM cycle and left him basically dead in a snap. While trapped down there his mind gave him maybe a minute of blessed nothingness- silent, black nothingness. But then, all of a sudden, he was driving. Well, he wasn't- he was in the passenger's seat and Homer was driving. Outside it was cool and the sun was still rising in pinks, yellows and blues over a long stretch of lowcut farmland that rolled over at the horizon like the blanket at the end of your bed. Oddly enough, they had no one's phone hooked up to the aux cord, and instead, while he felt if quiet and peaceful, Perry knew that the others were talking. Behind his seat, Adrian fish-hooked him and he turned around and snatched his hand, threatening to pull his engagement ring off. Jace voiced out about how he was still confused as to why Adrian had one, and though Perry had never been told, he was sure he already knew. He didn't have the words for it though, and honestly just felt that it was sort of a bond thing with Jessica- a pristine, silver banded, 18-karat bond. The thing was huge. Like it was almost a ring-pop. Now Perry was curious to see Jessica's- he should remember it from when she'd shown it off in all her social media posts and then in person for the entire duration the car was being packed, but suddenly he both couldn't remember and was inexplicably excited to see it again. Forcing some room out of his seatbelt, he turned around reaching back for her- driver's side back of Homer's minivan, to take her hand and looked at hers- her ring was the familiar gold band, and a similarly huge diamond. But, unbeknownst to him, it was pink- a color Jessica had always professed intense hatred for- and while Adrian's was a cut-and-dry square, her's was a nice kind of oval cut. Almost none of it really, exactly jived with Perry's fuzzy memory, and yet, he felt that both rings were exactly perfect. He turned to laugh when Jace joked that Adrian must have been writing lady's soft porn novels to be turned into movies so he could afford all that ice and looked straight into the watermelon sized eye of that horrible bird that now took up almost all the space in the car and left everyone around dead, their faces turned away from him. The long needle of it's beak- he almost hadn't noticed, moved slowly and easily to his thigh threatening to puncture it, while Perry called to his friends. Everyone's body was smattered in bloodspray, but then how were they still driving. Scared to take his eyes off the creature who's head was barely an inch from his, he stole a glance at Homer, but the man was so pale it was as if he'd been dead the longest, and it wasn't like Perry had noticed but suddenly they were driving in the forest, jumbling all the corpses like popcorn kernels inside the van, and it was almost pitch black outside. Perry tried to shield his face from the beast and open the door, but it would not budge, he tried to roll down his window, but it held fast. Finally he tried to grab the steering wheel and drive into a tree but suddenly there were no trees and he had guided his entire party off the edge of a cliff. He began to scream incoherently and thrashed his hands as he heard the bird do the same, hoping to hit it only to have it open it's long, jagged, razor toothed beak snap onto his fist just before they hit the ground.

Suddenly Perry shot up in his bed. He was sweating and looked around, but each second that rolled by stole from him another piece of his memory about whatever it was he had been so afraid of. Instead, he heard some light clinking and some voices from downstairs. Who was down there? Though not a minute before, he had been crazed with terror, he felt excitement building in his as he swung himself out of bed and scratched at his chest while heading down the narrow stairway from his second floor bed and bathroom to the kitchen and sitting area downstairs. Turning the corner and noticing that his feet were cold under his pj pants, he looked into his small kitchen at the intimate party happening between all his friends. They welcomed him in as though the celebration were for him, but he knew this was Gale's going away party. Homer was still single, Adrian and Jessica still openly got on each other's nerves, and Jace was still sporting that nasty little goatee he thought he could pull off. These were the times- joy erupted in Perry like a spring. Oh man- they had brought all kinds of goodies from Harvest Port- the premiere small restaurant in town- they had eggs so fluffy and moist, they might as well have been clouds, french toast that would shame Cracker Barrel and IHOP, bacon so crispy and delicious it could turn a vegetarian, and his personal favorite a fat 1/2 pound burger with crispy chicken strips, onion rings, jalapenos, provolone, cheddar jack, and mozzarella cheese, bacon, and all sandwiched between two Egg-in-a-hole buns. It was his own creation and he had to order 3 meals to get everything he wanted for it, but it seemed like someone had made this one for him in the kitchen. Gale's party was the best. Though he was sure it hadn't been there before, as soon as he turned toward his sink, he noticed the unholy horde of alcoholic beverages sparking in the warm light of the setting sun. They had everything from what he considered the classy and expensive 30 year old whiskey calling his name, to the regret-in-a-bottle Vod-quila, to a simple bottle that said simply "Moonshine: 190 proof." He stared at that bottle in excitement but as he took a big bite of his PerryBurger taking a swig of a strawberry milkshake that appeared next to him the moment he needed it, fear began to bubble up in him as well. At first it was just about stripping his insides like paint with what basically amounted to him drinking gasoline and rubbing alcohol as a cocktail, but then he noticed how dark his kitchen was and his eyes flicked up to the window he looked out when he washed his dishes to see that not only was it nighttime, but the darkness was so incredibly oppressive that it he just knew the world ended right beyond that thin pane of glass and that he was alone. So alone, that even before he turned around, he felt the fear of what he was about to see until it was concerned. Blocking the weakly flickering, sickly light coming from his one overhead fixture was the disgusting, slick grey body of the man shaped thing and just as he wondered what was missing, it's wings expanded, dangling from each long wing-finger was the headless, coat-hooded bodies of his friends like ducks in a window. There was suddenly a noise so loud and heavy that it physically shook the little world that was Perry's kitchen and did such a number on his vision that he was seeing dodechadouble- if that was even a word. The outlines and details of the beast lost in a blurry mess of lines he could not distinguish, but he could tell the thing was approaching him, expanding in his field of vision like a balloon until it threatened to swallow his whole existence. He cried out and shut his eyes falling to the ground.

He wasn't sure when the noise stopped, or the feeling of being nauseous began to subside, but Perry began to feel that it was okay for him to take his head out of his knees and turn around. Something wasn't right- something was in fact, very wrong. Perry didn't know what, but as he stood and dusted off the black and blue coat his mother forced him to wear out on this trip he tried not to think about it. Whatever it was, if he felt it- if he gave into the fear- everything would end horribly. That's all he knew. So he pretended not to notice the way the woods got foggy and dark the further out he looked even though, without turning his eyes up to the sky, he knew it was they kind of open daylit sky like the world went on forever. Instead he looked down at his hands and noticed that he'd put on one mitten and one glove. He hated mittens- he couldn't maneuver his hands the way he wanted to or grip things properly. He felt no breeze, but the leaves on the ground skirted past him on the invisible current anyway and Perry refused to turn around. He needed to find his friends. What was he doing? Probably gathering firewood- he was really cold. Jace's dad said not to separate from their buddies, and though Jace was new to school and he and his 4 friends had been the only one's to agree to come on the camping trip his surprisingly wealthy parents had decided to throw to help their nearly silent, cripplingly shy, clearly indoorsy son meet friends, so far it'd been pretty fun. Homer hadn't wanted to go- a new Mario game was coming out and he wanted to play it with Adrian, and Jessica and her best friend Claire had been in the middle of a little fight with Gale as they got into every other week since starting the 6th grade, but Perry had convinced them that the whole class would show up- who'd miss the chance to tell ghost stories and cook s'mores? Perry never really asked them for anything, so when he did, they almost always obliged him. There was a hard pang of guilt in Perry about this but he discarded the negative emotion quickly throwing himself into the welcoming arms of denial so he didn't fall back into fear. Instead, he went looking for Jace- he didn't know the small kid very well, but he was small and shy and almost always looked like he was going to cry. It hadn't taken long for a few of the less sympathetic people he himself knew well to start picking on him. It didn't help that he was new to a group of kids who'd almost all known each other since they started Kindergarten and it was hard to fit in when everyone already pretty much had a place. Perry knew, though, that he and Jace had gone through the same things- being picked on, having few friends, just trying to stay out of everyone's way and yet being afraid to be alone. He felt a throb in his heart, warm if not somewhat bitter, of kinship with the smaller boy and went looking for him. He didn't want to leave him alone and he wished he hadn't gone off on his own. Knocking about in his big boots, Perry called out for Jace, turning one way then the other to listen for him. He could hear voices not too far off, and knew that they were the girls, sans Claire who couldn't go because who cares? He didn't like Claire anyway. The boys were nearby too and maybe Mr. and Mrs.Hopper? But then there were suddenly too many voices. It was like a crowd and though he couldn't see anyone else, he knew he was surrounded. Perry's small face began to lose blood and his breathing became unstable. He dropped everything in his arms and ran into the forest, too scared to make noise, but desperate to find his friends. Everything got darker almost immediatly and finally he saw the fire. He knew he should be relieved to see their camp, as he knew it was before he even arrived, but when he arrived, up on poles hung every one of his friends around the little fire that'd made much more light before to bring him in. Only Jace was not on the pole- some strangers were hoisting him up. Hill people. Jace cried and screamed and kicked- a grown man thrashing around for his very life- and as soon as he saw Perry, he called him. He squealed his name begging to be saved and little 12 year old Perry knew there was nothing he could do. Instead, he noticed trees closing in around him and, frightened, turned to see the tall things turn out only to be more hill people, all with knives glinting in the firelight. He raised his hands up as they raised theirs, until he heard a scream that didn't sound like Jace's. Instead of Jace, who had disappeared along with every other person once strung up 20 feet in the air to the poles, and faded into darkness, there was a strange woman. Her dark her thrashed wildly around her head as she shook it and her legs kicked out viciously at the giant hill people trying to tye her down. She had a knife of her own and sliced one of them who backed away, dropping her. Perry rushed toward her, breaking past the pack around him and grabbed her hand, effectively catching her before she hit the ground and as soon as they touched the fire went out. Though she was bigger than him, a grown woman to his adolescent, he gripped her tightly and began to run. Fear was welling in him again, he knew something was after the two of them, and yet he felt so helpless. It was like the ground was trying to swallow his feet- he knew he could go faster, and yet his speed continued to slow. He had to find a hiding place- they needed to get somewhere safe. But there was no safe place. That's how he suddenly felt- nothing, nowhere, at no time was ever safe anymore. Not the before, not now, not later. Everything was doomed. Suddenly a snarl thundered into his ears and he pulled the woman down and hugged her head, peeking out just in time to throw up his hand in defense and see a flash of white fangs inside a long, crooked, scraggly maw streak across his eyes.

Opening his eyes to the pain of sunlight, Perry blinked in confusion. What had happened? Was he okay? Where was he? Why was he afraid? Trying to rub his eyes, he recognized that he was breathless and tried to take a deep breath noting only that he was folded over in such a way that that was basically impossible. Trying to sit up, then, he bumped his back up against the overhang, and quickly, with a bit of frusteration, sidled out from under the rock and into the cold open air. Oh yeah. This is where he was. Rubbing his eyes, bloodshot and with a few dark red splashes from where his blood vessels had popped the night before, he tried to focus and looked around. He knew he was with her last night- Oh. There she was. He sighed and sat a moment longer before standing and bending over, feeling the threat of fainting creeping up and keeping it at bay by moving slowly until he was up at full height again. His body was stiff, achey, and sore, his limbs still wobbly like a day after a hard workout, and his head still hurt, but he had been rested.

"Morning." His groggy voice managed to greet her quietly from their little hole-in-the-ground. He scratched his head where it itched but stopped as he felt the scab beginning to peel, "How long have I been out?" He asked, wondering how long he'd been asleep while she was awake.

While Perry listened he began to stretch. The cramped space wasn't a familiar occurrence to the man's body and suddenly made him feel quite old to hear all the popping accompanying his loosening limbs, much like someone walking on bubblewrap. As he did, lifting his arms up as high as he could get them to go, his shirt lifted and though he carried on anyway, where the shudder illicited at the end should have been refreshing and somewhat invigorating, it was marred badly by his notice of how cold he was. Under the overhang was one thing- he was able to keep some of his body heat with him, and as the night had drawn on, there was another source of heat right nearby. He wasn't sure when she'd gotten up, but the cold had taken the chance to properly seep into his muscles sine then. With his good hand, he'd occasionally take to vigorously rubbing certain muscles in order to try and get a little flash heat going on in his vessels. Now with the gift of daylight as well, he tried to take stock of his total damage while he stood or lunged or bent or what have you. First was his hand; actually a lot of the radial swelling had gone down. The only thing that was clearly the real problem were the knuckles of his second, third and fourth finger, which were still swollen and probably fractured, an inability at this point to even feel the tip of his pinky let alone move it without using is other hand, and the subtle clue that his dominant right handed ring finger might have actually been snapped in that it was a bit crooked, angling off a bit behind and over his pinky's direction at the second knuckle. Yeah, that wasn't good. Initial instincts were to try righting it himself, but after wrapping his other hand around the damaged philange moving it with slow care was proving to be more than he bargained for without dosing up on something. Meanwhile, the thought of trying to do it quick, like the bandaid, proved daunting as he wasn't 100% sure he could manage the accuracy of the stop and resting point as well and when trying to set bones in a survival situation, for him at least, anything less than 100% wasn't quite good enough. All that said, he moved to some of the dripping ice down the one corner of the cave and rested his hand against it, hoping to numb it properly.

Nodding his understanding when she offered her own name, it took a moment for Perry's mind to reach back to the time in question from last night. He had been so zonked out on the flush of chemicals binding him with fear and driving him to survival for them both that the fact he'd managed a cohesive string of words at all was actually a surprise to him. He did manage to retrace his mental steps- remembering that it had weighed on him to do show gratitude and properly open an introduction up. She hadn't had to help him out of his bindings back at the sacrificial circle, especially when there was someone there that she knew. He hadn't had much of her on his mind before or after she'd come to his aid, but he recalled, fuzzy in his brain from the fall from Adrian and Jace's abductor that one of those things had come after her friend and taken him off. He wondered what they were to each other- maybe he'd been wrong all along and he wasn't a friend but a brother or cousin or stepsibling of some kind. The possibility of them being anywhere from growing aquaintences to best friends from diapers wasn't off the table though. Even further still, he could have been her boyfriend, or husband. He hadn't seen a band on her finger, but she could have lost it, the hill people could have taken it- heck, it could have been in the shop for a touch up. Noticing that he was dwelling, he turned his attention elsewhere, in this case offering another nod, though this one for translating a silent "you're welcome". He wasn't much for praise or being thanked- he didn't know what to do with other people's positive thoughts of him, especially when they didn't know each other. To him they were like fragile expectations and while beautiful and kind gifts, also a burden on his personal anxiety with his self esteem reminding him all the time that none of it was really true, that he'd drop and shatter them, or that they saw him in a much better light. It sometimes felt to him like he was tricking others when he did 'nice' things. After all he'd been through and surely what it'd made him, did he ever really do anything truly good or did his self interests just sometimes work out well for others? For example, had he taken her along to help her, or because he himself would have crumbled on his own after the loss of his friends? Did he lead because somewhere deep down he thought- as a male- he should, as much his right as his responsibility? If he hadn't pulled her into the hole, could she- the armed half of the pair- have killed their predator last night and quelled at least one of their fears if he had chosen to help her fight rather than force her to flee? Would it have been more merciful to have died back there? Ah, now all this felt familiar; the muddy, soul-sucking bog of his general psyche. It was almost nice to be back here on mental home turf as opposed to the wide open frontier of fear which he had been sojourning through recently.

As was almost always the case, what drew him out of that trap of a lagoon between his ears was external stimuli, in this case, Olivia asking if he was okay. Looking down at his shirt and pulling at the collar, feeling the inner shirt caught inside the healing wound and pulling at the scab as he looked down at a tiny bit more than foot of split flesh, opened like a cut-top bread, but relatively thin in diameter, and mostly all black-brown with just a few hints of dark maroon here and there. Lifting his shirt and shuddering once again, now with the lingering symptom of sporadically chattering teeth he hid by turning around, he looked himself over in the light to see what else was going on. Though his melanin exceeded Olivia's, it was still light enough to show bruising. On his front, they were stripes or a spot of dark patches patched here and there but behind his back it was so colorful and widespread it was actually sort of beautiful. The purples, reds and yellows presented in striations across his back where, after being hooked under the chin by one of those powerful wings, he'd been thrown back into a post hard enough to take his air, his knees, and a lion's share of his sense. It almost looked like a sunset sky; the cold had kept the bruise from raising much in the first place and had pulled back much of the swelling, though some was still quite obvious, especially nearer to his spine. Still, it was his back, so there wasn't much of it he could see. With no mirror, his only option was to ask.

"How does it look? It's sore, but I can't really say-" Though he wasn't really trying to show it, only as his body shuddered again did he drop enough cloth over his shoulder to completely cover the bit of his tattoo he'd revealed. "How about you?" He asked, trying to change a subject that hadn't been raised. It was sort of personal to him, but then he didn't usually show off his body in such a manner, so it wasn't usually something he had to think about. Even now, he realized, that for at least the third time he was thinking about the most unimportant things. Oh well, came with the territory of denial he supposed. It was hard to dance around the problem when you stayed focused on one thing too long. Instead, he turned toward the rest of his bodily inventory, feeling his toes wiggling in his boots and testing his jaw. It hurt, but like the headache, and the sticky patch of hair the size of a tangerine on the back of his skull closer to the base than he would have liked, having been in a few knock-down-drag-outs in his life, this was a pain to which he was not unnaccustomed or unable to make peace with. One of his teeth was broken and he'd bit clear through a bit of the inside of his cheek, but it wasn't like that was much of a problem thus far. With that passing thought, his stomach reminded him that he hadn't really eaten since dinner two nights ago. In the hectic of packing, the group had shared a box of Homer's children's chocolate chip granola snack bars, and they'd skipped lunch to go walking, planning on filling up at dinner. Even then, all he'd had was a microwave meal of enchilada and some steam-bag veggies. Not to mention the fact that his body was alarming him as though it was his 3rd day in the Sahara. He had lost a lot of fluid. The dripping red stripe on his trunk, mirrored back to him on Olivia's reminded him of that. It was clear it had been properly dripping from the garment like a leaky faucet at some point, which began to put his brain truly back into gear.

"Whatever's out there, we didn't make it hard to track us. No wonder that wolf was after us last night." He noted to her, turning to glance over his shoulder. Her face was cut and colored in more than a few places all consistent with a fist. He was very used to seeing this on boys faces, including the one in the mirror, but it always shamed and sickened him to see it on a woman's face. Even with whatever battering she'd taken, her face was pretty. Her small nose and rounded shape kind of seemed like a bunny rabbit, or reinforced the idea of a fawn. Even before all that though, she had the kind of eyes he liked. A bit large- cute in his opinion- but slanted in such a way that they could look what he had considered 'royal' or at the very least, that he associated with a queen's since taking a tour of Egyptian culture when he was a boy. Behind her's though, was a much more tangible depiction of strength he felt than the statutes and busts managed to get across. But maybe that was just him editorializing. Once again, he questioned himself a chauvinist for it, but without the time for debates about social issues, he instead wondered a moment if any other part of her had been duly damaged. It seemed to personal to ask right now, but he couldn't help himself from trying to glean any clues he could from what he could see of her. Her pants didn't seem damaged, or undone which was a good sign- though didn't exactly put her out of the woods neccessarily. He couldn't see her shirt beyond his coat, but noticed she'd put on her second shirt as it was no longer about her hips. His body gave another big shudder.

"We ought to get out of here. It won't be long till something finds us or night falls again." He looked around the hole, scanning for the shortest distance from them to the top. It was the corner where a small pile of dirt and leaves had slid in over time from before, "I could probably lift you out and you could find me a root or branch or something that I could pull on to get out?" he put the idea up for discussion.

Sort of bunching up half his bottom lip under his teeth and rubbing them against his canines in thought, Perry tried to think about the information she'd given him on his back. It hurt quite a bit, and moving the skin was troublesome, but he was thankful, for the first time since waking, about how he'd slept. Thanks to having to turtle over, he'd been stretching it all night and it hadn't been allowed to settle in as it might have if he had slept normally. Thanks to that, it created a wider range of motion for him, and though it was still quite sore, as long as he didn't touch the tender area, he should be fine. What was concerning him, though, was what she said about it being worse near his spine. Thanks to his ability to stand and wiggle his toes, he knew that it wasn't broken, or at least that the nerves running through it were unimpeded, but it was possible he wasn't feeling the full results yet. He decided to not jump too far down the pessimism hole though- he'd run last night for who knows how long, fallen down a hole, and woken up this morning with the ability to go upright. Adrenaline could only mask so much for so long. Worst case scenario, he hoped at least, was that he'd be feeling this for a while, but that it'd only really present a problem later on in life as an old man. He was thankful, suddenly, for the somewhat cosmetic applications, therefore, of his active lifestyle; things could have been worse if he had less muscle back there to cushion the impact near his vital skeletal structure. He wished he could look and assess for himself, but knowing that he couldn't, he took Olivia at her word about the damage and figured it wasn't too bad. So long as he didn't split any of that skin he'd actually be fine, whether it hurt or not. Feeling the fabric slide back over it was like a butterfly-kiss of discomfort, but it helped if he stretched and held the position until the poignant pain the movement created subsided substantially. At least for a few seconds his body didn't feel much problem after doing so and it would keep him limber.

He shrugged his shoulders one at a time while doing this, testing their range as well when she took off his coat and offered it back to him. Blinking a few seconds in surprise, he looked first at the garment and then back to her. Having resigned to the idea and expectation that she'd keep it for the duration of the trip barring them finding the hotsprings while on the run, or recovering her own things, he didn't think he'd wear it again. His entire plan had mostly been to sleep near her for warmth during the nights and keep moving during the day. Most of him wanted to refuse it, to make sure she still had it seeing as he'd at least proven to himself he could live without and also thinking that the longer he stayed in the cold the more his body, or at least his perception, would acclimate. But that smaller other part kept saying that he was cold and he just wanted to be warm again. That's the part that gave him another shiver and so he took it, leaning forward to slip it over his bad hand, lift it from the hood to get it over his other shoulder with bothering his wound or his bruise and get it on the other. Feeling the cold blocked out immediately, his body settled back into this familiar cloth shell and began to tingle almost immediately, initiating another shiver, as his nerves, one by one, hungrily devoured her residual heat left inside, and began to wake themselves up. His teeth began to stop chattering not long after and he lifted his hand into his pocket feeling around for the gum, lighter, and finally his cell phone. Pulling the thing out of the breast pocket, he looked at the screen. Shattered to bits. He hit the a button to awaken it, and it did manage to come on, but thanks to the fall and clearly getting blood in it's cracks, the screen was absolutely useless- a bright white spiderweb with stripes of LED color in an nonsensical striped pattern. All it was good for now as a flashlight and who knows how long for. He decided to turn it off and rest the batteries. Wouldn't it be just his luck if they chanced upon somewhere with reception later on, he got a call, and the thing died before he could even ask for help. No, he'd keep it off for now, and could turn it on later when it was necessary or chances seemed higher that something could happen.

For now, though, her own injuries needed assessing. He looked down at her hand and saw the way the wrist had swollen. Her range of motion seemed limited if possible at all and then back up to her face as she dismissed problems against the bruising there. He wondered if she was the kind of girl who used to get into fights too. To him, they were a rare breed- real fighters. Sure everyone knew about the girls who tried to slap each other or claw their opponents skin while yanking on their hair, but he meant girls who took and threw fists at each other or at men- the ones who boxed or got into the more serious street brawls ruled by cruelty and rage. As tough as it was being in one, it was sometimes worse to watch. He'd seen a girl once, true to form, grab another girl's hair but then drag her over to a car where she could bash her head against a window and then kick her in the gut until someone pulled her off. The other girl had made the mistake of coming back for her chance at vengance and had punched her in the back of the head and out came the quickest, surest, most form-perfect haymaker he'd ever witnessed. He would have been left in awe if the girl hadn't immediatly gone savage and came down on the dumber girl's torso so that she could be pinned and her face nearly beaten into the pavement. Perry imagined a lot of girls unused to combat would be in a lot worse shape mentally and emotionally after what all had happened than Olivia currently was, so maybe she was a fighter. That'd sure take a lot of worry off of Perry's own head about it, knowing she could defend herself. Of course, he didn't know that, but he was able to put more faith in her and it made him relax a little more. Still, an injury was an injury, and he studied her back when she revealed it to him. The knife wound wasn't as long as his, but it had a lot more red on it still. He wondered if she had a bleeding disorder, or if she'd just been moving enough to not let it heal properly. Around the edges were the ripples of bruising and pale skin, as well as some clearish-yellow platelette and plasma fluid trying to help her heal along with the caked up scab. As the wound was at her back, it didn't seem like it'd cut any of her vitals so he responded,

"It doesn't look like it's going to feel good for a while, but I don't think it'll cause any lasting damage. Your rib and shoulder bones and spine aren't exposed or cut and it didn't get to your organs or arteries so I think you'll be fine." Her back certainly less excersized than his, but it was slender and, at least by his quick view, seemed unmarred save for the slash mark. Neither of these two things were going to heal up without a rather unsightly scarring, but heal they would, he was sure given time, patience, and care. He wished he knew where his campsite was- Homer and Jessica always brought first aid kits packed full of antibiotics, antiseptics, bandages, clean wipes, medical gauze, tape, and wrapping, burn ointment, and all kinds of other things. They'd be in a lot better shape if they could clean these things up and stave off infection in the wilderness. Not to mention the pain killers. What he wouldn't give for an extra-strength tylenol right then. She turned back around then and he approached, looking at at her wrist and trying to see the extent of the damage. He could tell she was wary as well she had every right to be, but he wanted to check her worst injury better.

"Sorry-" he mostly whispered, and took her forearm lifting it gently so he could see. He knew it would hurt, but gently, he brushed his fingers over her wrist to see if he could figure the problem. Using his own wrist from his right hand as an example, he moved around until he could figure out which bone or bones were the ones out of place. He had sprained his wrist before, but he'd never dislocated his either. As far as he could tell, though, it looked like just one bone was really out of place, though as it was, it was probably straining if it hadn't already torn the complicated muscle structure around it. He remembered only the basics from anatomy, but he guessed shoving the bone in question back down in it's pocket was what she'd need. You can bet he wasn't about to do that to her, though. Instead he stepped back again, giving her her space.

"I don't think its completely useless, it's not dangling off the edge of your arm anyway. Most of it's still in its place but that one bit. I think you might have torn some muscles though." He offered.

Once they were sorted about getting out, he nodded, agreeing. The edge-corner was the quickest way up, and though they both had injured hands, they still both had a good one too. He didn't know the extend of her arm or upper body strength, but seeing as he was taller than 6 feet by a small margin, taking off around a foot for his head, but adding back in maybe half a foot for the debris at the bottom of the cave, as long as she was taller than 4 feet, he should be able to get her far enough that she could crawl up onto the ground. That said he walked over to the debris pile in the corner and stepped on it. It sank under his foot a little, but was a solid foot hold when it stopped deflating. That in mind he looked up, stanidng right under the little corner of daylight and finding a place to brace his body. Before looking over his shoulder back at her.

"Okay, we're going to have to get you on my shoulders so this is what we'll do: I'm going to kneel a bit, and put my good hand back over my shoulder, you come and push off from the crook of my knee, here" He demonstrated, buckling his knee toward the ground and patting the pocket behind it, "And we'll hold each other's wrists. I'll pull you up and you can put a foot here," He located his lower back in an area that didn't feel bruised, "And then get up to stand on my shoulders. I'll stand up, and you can keep steady against the sides of the wall. I think you'll be able to get out from there, okay? Let's try it." He turned around and put his left hand over his shoulder, bending his right leg back so that he was nearly taking a knee and braced himself a couple of times to make sure he was stable, keeping his head down and waiting for her to start.

During the short interim between explanation and execution, Perry's busy mind wandered back into the inconsequential. He wondered a great many things- what was the actual temperature right now? It certainly felt warmer than last night and they hadn't even exercised, and yet what did it really matter? What would it change to know that? What day was it? Though he would love to believe being knocked out had only occurred in the span of a few hours, he also recognized that he could have been out for one or two days. He figured, though, it couldn't be much longer than that given the state of his facial hair. After three days, he'd have noticed a length change and he really doubted the native folk would have cared to keep him trimmed as he was. If he paid more attention, he would have been able to tell, or at least get a gist, from the phase of the moon, but alas, he'd been paying it no mind when it had not mattered. Much like he hadn't paid attention to the back-dropped landscape in specifics. He knew which mountain the road they wanted had taken them too, and sort of a general idea of background 'mountain chain' and 'sky' behind it. He hadn't looked when he'd been running, but he was very sure the scenery no longer matched his memory, which made him wonder just how far away they'd been taken, and in which direction? All he wanted to do was get off the mountain period, find some semblance of real society, but it sure would be nice if he knew which way to his campsite, and their supplies, and blessed heavens above, their van. Homer had had the keys.

Nope.

Stop thinking about that again. Don't think about that right now. Put that away. Now's not the time. It was hard work squashing one's feelings, and getting harder as time went on, but Perry persevered. Clearing his throat quietly and shaking his head a little, he wondered if Olivia was doing any better in that department. She hadn't shown any signs of undue emotional distress, and had remained focused and present since they'd left the night before together. Though they managed to find the same words at the same time for a couple of instances thus far, he felt they probably had very different processes of thoughts. On the one hand, that could lead to friction at some point, but on the other, having more than one point of view could be the difference between their survival and peril out here. That said, he wondered if she wanted to lead today. Not that he was thinking he needed to foist off the responsibility, but he was wondering if letting her have the reigns would show him how she thought and what kind of problem solving strategies she brought to the table. He'd ask her, maybe- probably... but later.

For now, he hunkered down further, licked his lips in preparation just in case he had to do a last minute course correction in her favor and nodded with a short, quiet, grunt of approval at her words of encouragement. Positivity internalized, he listened to her footfalls come near, felt her foot secure itself in the back of his knee, and reached out to grip her wrist. It was small, not too much and not surprisingly so, but after seeing her other one, he carefully measured the strength he'd need to secure her before being so paranoid as to crush her in his hand for fear of having her slip. Once she gt her weight balanced out, and he felt her other foot coming up, he braced, aware that even if the bruise wasn't right there, the pulling of skin and compression of muscles were not isolated and would be transfered just a bit. It hurt, and he bit his lip a bit, huffing through flared nostrils, but made no other noise. He widened his own stance instead, now compensating for whichever direction her body happened to sway, but made sure he did not let go of her hand as she moved to the hardest part of the lift- getting both her feet onto his shoulders. It wasn't a quick process, but it sure felt like he was trying to do a lot of things at once: Balance her out, give her enough slack in her own arm so that she didn't catch halfway up and throw off her ascent, keep his shoulders level and sturdy and though his spine hurt terribly and the core work he was engaged in wasn't doing his chest wound any favors, he had to make sure she made it. If not, then all this went to waste. No, he sucked it up, digging his teeth further into his lip and trying to watch her as she got to his summit. Letting go of her hand, he put both of his on the wall around him, bracing more so that he could be still for her and allow her to begin tugging her way out. When he felt her weight begin lifting off of him, he felt comfortable moving his hands up to try and help push her feet higher, even if it was just to give her just a bit of a foothold to get a grip on whatever it was she was grabbing. Soon though, she was out of his reach altogether.

He heard her movements on the ground above him, and began to back up from the corner to see if he could catch a glimpse of where she was now. He couldn't, and it was quiet, so he went still, eyes darting around aimlessly, waiting for her to reemerge. Finally, he took a breath to call out to her, and yet before he got the chance to speak it, she returned. She explained to him where she was going and why and he gave a nod up to her with a quiet, "Okay." Then, once again he watched her disappear from the lip of the edge of his world. He listened patiently while he could still hear her foot falls and eventually he was left to the apathetic bosom of nature. He wondered for a moment how badly his hearing had been damaged by that whistling noise last night and if he should be able to hear better now. Which led him to wondering what he wasn't hearing right that minute, which inevitably led him to wondering if, should something happen, he would be able to hear her if she called him. At this point, he backed up, and hitting the wall, began to pace. Even if he could hear her, what was he supposed to do? How was he going to get out of here on his own to help her, or, if she was trying to use her last breath helping him, to get out of dodge? He didn't like thinking about that. Somehow, his mind had twisted itself up into believing that if she got attacked during the day, it wouldn't be her getting dragged off into the dark of the night like a Disney Character falling to an unseen death. No, in the daylight it'd be up-close-and-personal and it'd be so much worse that way. So much worse to be nearby when the killing happened and still be absolutely powerless to do anything about it. No, he didn't like that at all. Not only could he not handle not being able to do anything about it, to help someone who, on one level or another, he cared about, but to see the look in their eyes when they put their hopes in him and he completely and absolutely disappointed them. His pacing quickened as time went on. No, she was fine- no reason to be an alarmist right this moment. He listened to what he could and the birds were still chirping and the little animals still chittering- they weren't scared so nothing was nearby, right? That's what that meant, for sure. He glanced into the sky for as long as he dared- looking up had come to instill apprehension and a particular flavor of guilt- but saw no giant beasts. Just a few clouds and the underside of a plethora of leaves. He could call out to her? No. That was a dumb idea- not only would that single him out in his compromised position, but it could very well draw attention her way. He should trust that she was coming back. She was coming back. She was on her way now. She was definitely coming back. She was fine and healthy as he'd left her, and she was walking right back this way. She was coming right back. She was.

And there she was. The amount of relief that flushed through him was almost pure endorphin somehow. He almost smiled a little bit, though she was busy tossing down his way out to him so he backed up. As he tugged at it here and there, testing it's ability to bear weight, he wondered if he really could make it up this thing. She'd absolutely hear not complaints from him about it, but he looked around and footholds were scarce. Sure he'd done the rope climb before, but it'd always been dangling freely so that he could get his body around it not against a wall. Also, he'd always used both hands. He suddenly sort of wished that he'd been one of those guys at the gym who do those loud, grunting, one-armed, cross-legged pull ups. But no, he preferred activity to regular workouts and definition to mass building. Ugh. Now he was paying for it. Well, do or die, he supposed.

Getting his good hand around a bit of it, and anchoring his grip by putting the wrist of his good hand ahead of it and pulling back, he grunted heavily, feeling the wound on his stomach tearing with the flexing of his abdominal muscles and strain he was putting on his back by placing so much of his weight one one arm. He couldn't even clench his teeth properly through it because that tooth was starting to act up. Still, he managed to jerk himself up in quick spurts, and get one foot, then the other off the ground and onto the wall. The vine strained under his body, and he prayed he didn't move around so much that he sawed through the fauna against the edge of his hole. He'd catch himself when he thought he heard a snap or something like it, turning his body up straighter just in case it dropped him so that he wouldn't land on his back. When, each time, it proved a worthy hold, he would continue on, pulling his wrist toward him to try and hook the vine under his chin- bruised and painful, but helpful when he needed to push up with his feet but to guide himself more up than back. It was slow and arduous work, and about halfway up he could feel the vine pulling at the skin in his hand and the way it was rubbing his wrist and bruised chin raw, scraping off thin layers of skin on it's rough, nearly wooden skin, but he was making progress and that drove him on. The higher he got, the more he felt the breeze, the more he saw the light, the more he could see the forest around him in the daylight, until, finally, he could see the ground and tugging with everything he had, he forced himself a couple of jumps higher, throwing his hand out for an already used looking bush and heaving himself in a slow slide onto the ground to collapse on his stomach- he could feel the beads of liquid pressing against his skin where the wound was, but he sure as heck wasn't about to turn over. He'd managed to work up a little sweat.

"We have officially," he began between short pants, "worked our way back up to square one. Now what?"

Having heaved his body weight one handed up more than 9 feet of vertical stone and vine, Perry was glad to feel the pull of Olivia's hands on his coat as he fought to emerge from the dark hole that had only a few hours prior been a shining blessing from heaven. Oh how quickly people could take things for granted, he felt. He himself had felt like he'd won the lottery just finding this place and already he'd cursed more than a dozen times on his way out of it how deep it was, and how steep all the walls and so on and so forth. Even in a situation where one could truly count the moments as unpromised- when ever breath could honestly be the last one you ever took- his brain still told him to complain about something. And how could he help it? His wound was reopened, but thank God he was on top of it- or else he was sure his blood would start forming icicles that would rival a Madonna outfit. One arm was burning with strain, while the other hand a wrist that was red and raw, though at least it wasn't bleeding. His chin hurt too. Blinking his eyes open for a moment he noted the scattered patches of grimy snow around- it'd become less pure as they'd scrambled around on top of it. With all the energy of a fat caterpillar, he heaved his head back a few times, incing it forward until he could rest his face on some of that precious ice, temporarily willing himself to forget that it was the ground, it was dirty, and without that protective layer of skin who knows what kind of bacteria could creep its way in. Moving his other hand around, he found a little mound he could simultaneously sink his broken fingers and wrist into and allowed his body heat to turn the ice to a cold liquid that dripped around him until it stung from the cold, and even past then, until it started going numb again. Watching his breath cluster before his eyes and then dissipate into nothingness as the heat generated from within his body began to acclimate back toward the cold of the world enveloping him and his sweat began to turn into a light frost- like slurry on his forehead. The saline in the excretion was doing a good job at keeping his face from forming a proper ice mask. Still, he could feel a similar, if not much slower sensation happening down at the small of his back and between his shoulder blades where his back's moisture was a bit exposed under his rumpled coat.

About to find his other hand an ice embankment of it's own to park in, Perry was instead met by the soft feeling of skin instead. His head was angled up for the benefit of his chin, but he angled it, turning to lay more jaw to ground than cheek, but looking over to see her smaller, light hand, softer than his, laid atop it. Turning his palm over under hers, he faced his hand up and let his fingers curl as they may, trying to give a few rubs to the top of her limb, pressing his fingers forward and letting them relax back when he could manage the right swing of pressure and pats when he could not. For no other reason obviously, not climbing or running or falling or lifting, than to feel someone else, he appreciated her gesture. It was true she might need someone right now, to feel once, that a short breath could be taken and that it was okay. She might need to feel like she wasn't alone, and that she wouldn't be left that way. Maybe she even just needed to be reassured that she wasn't the only one who was scared and that just for a moment touching someone who had proved their willingness to help another person live when it would have been so easy to fend for themself was enough to steady her heartbeat and at least slightly soothe her nerves, returning just a monocrum of hope to her soul. But even if she didn't feel any of that, he felt all of it, and would be just as happy to accept her hand if she had only offered it for his sake. For as long a moment as he could, he clasped her, a gesture meant as a thank-you, though despite how hard he thought the words it wasn't like he could pass the sentiment through his skin to hers. Really, he just felt like he spent all his time saying 'thank-you' at this point, even if this would have only been twice, and experience had taught him to err on the side of being less annoying to others than more. For now he let his eyes fall shut again and focused on getting his breathing back in order, and just to tease him perhaps, for the shortest little blink of a moment, his brain allowed him to breathe in the scent of the dirt and the pine and feel the numbness setting in on his body- exerting itself more and more with little fuel, and less blood to oil the cogs- and forget. For just a snap, he was allowed to imagine that he was not freezing on he ground of an uncharted part of who knows what mountain, but that he was relaxing on one of the fields near the forest on the outskirts of town. He was allowed to momentarily think that he was safe within the arms of his town, but isolated enough to keep his anxiety from acting up in a quiet pocket of their quiet town. Temporarily he was holding the hand of someone who wanted to hold his back and all he had to do was open his eyes, get to his feet, and walk to once again be home. But then he did open his eyes and his mirage fell away like curtains dropped on the scene. And Olivia battered form was shivering again.

Well, he was beginning to feel steamy anyway. Taking off the coat, he figured it was time for her shift to start again and managed to angle his arms up out of the sleeve of his unattended hand and tossed it over toward her. It was his band hand of course, so his grip wasn't spectacular and the garment managed to fall with about a sleeve of itself across her nearest shoulder. He didn't mean for it to seem so rude, but there was no use in explaining himself. That never worked. Instead he moved so that he could turn his head away again and let go of her hand so she could move at her liesure, though he kept it in place. Reminded of how she said they were better than how they started, he wondered if what they said about bad publicity also applied to relationships- at least ones in such distress that it required a partnership whether one party wanted to separate or not. One person was better than no person? Well, he was sure that wasn't true, but he was also still fairly certain he wasn't that small percentage of absolutely horrid piece of crap that would be the exception to the saying. At least not yet, anyway. He was well aware he had a way of putting people off. Still, he'd try a bit harder for her to keep whatever that bit of his je ne sais quoi from getting loose. Instead, for the time being, he listened to her and what she had to say about her thoughts on the next step they should take; of course, in doing so, he found they were on the same page and agreed with her. Getting down shouldn't even be that hard, theoretically. I mean, gravity should be doing the brunt of the work for them in the first place, guiding their direction and maybe even helping the pace. It felt flat here though. That was the difficult bit. If they could get out of these trees, maybe they could see where they needed to go. They had gotten a few handful yards more visionary distance with the rising of the sun, but that still left them fairly lost. Finding the hill people's stash on the other hand, might be anywhere. His biggest concern, though, was that it was near their stronghold and watched over with care. He'd rather avoid that, but he didn't want to argue with her, still feeling it best to pursue silence for the sake of their functioning relationship.

Her thoughts on their ultimate outcome though, made it easy to keep his mouth closed, the thoughts weighing heavy enough to keep his jaws clenched. He felt her hand slide away from his and heard her sit up though he made no moves to look. Instead that little seed of dread, hiding in the soil of his fears and anxieties and memories he was burying so deep started to blossom just a sprout. It was true. The logic suggested they were doomed; dead people walking. That their fates had been sealed the moment they were knocked out. They didn't know where they were let alone how to get out or inform someone else as to how to rescue them. They didn't know the terrain they were rushing blindly through or the wilderness they were surrounded by and all the surprises it might contain. Heck, they didn't even know what was real anymore seeing as monsters were real. They might as well be naked out in this climate, had severe handicaps as far as their physicality was now concerned, no food, no water, little rest, and basically no plan. People a lot more prepared had died under much better circumstances than what they had. Not only that, but no one paid much mind in their homes when some local news channel's boring correspondence anchor announced what seemed to be clues of someone who may or may not be missing and that 'authorities were still looking into the details.' No one cared when that story never got a follow up. No one remembered those people and indeed, never would. They just disappeared and that was the end of their unread story. Heh, and those were the one's that made it to the news in the first place. People died everyday, maybe good people who were just trying to keep their head down and live their life peacefully; people with dreams maybe of being someone others could be proud of or ashamed at having treated badly; people cared about the world around them even if it seemed the world was determined to show them everyday how little it cared for them. People like that died, and not only did no one care, but no one knew.

Homer's wife would know he was gone and she'd be sad, and confused, and no doubt angry about it when there were no answers. However, on his salary and as busy as this would surely leave her providing for the household, she and their beautiful baby daughters might never actually be able to figure out what had taken the life of their funny, 'fishy-face' father. Gale's news station would surely wonder what had gotten off to her, but how many jobs actually had anyone who would look into anything any further than 'no-call, no-show'? Would her on-again-off-again boyfriend just think she was ghosting him and wait, angrily, for her to contact him first and say 'sorry'? Jessica and Adrian were each other's everything, but Jessica had a sister who she sometimes exchanged light-hearted e-cards and mail-order gifts with on holidays and her birthday. Would she just assume they had drifted apart and stop trying to contact her, naively thinking she was just allowing her sister to live her life? Jace's annoying, aloof artist 'friends' might not even notice that he would never stand before them again, but his mother was guaranteed to lose what was left of her attachment to life if she ever found out what happened to the only child she was ever able to have, and almost as liable if she got no answers at all. If his father ever managed to remember who he was, Perry imagined he'd spend that fleeting moment wondering what ever happened to that son he used to have. No, no stone would go turned on the account of this lot. If he died, Perry was sure not a thing would change about the rest of the world. He'd always imagined he'd at least have a funeral, where a man of one cloth or another would say a few words just for him on his turn, and a few other men would lower him into the ground. Maybe there would be lookers on at another grave letting the thought of whoever was in that box drift through their mind and wishing them well as they wished their own friend or family. It was only in fantasy he thought someone might stand at the edge of his hole, two or three people at the most, and shed a tear and say 'good-bye, we'll miss you', and hope to see him again. He didn't want to make anyone sad, and yet he hoped someone felt his absence.

Pulled from a weed of thought that was quickly growing out of control, Perry turned his head back to Olivia who was still here now. She was still alive, and he was someone who knew about that. He was surely allowed to care, wasn't he? Pushing the fist of his good hand against the ground to lift himself up, Perry fell to sit on his knees. He reached out, paused his hand, but then exteneded it finally out to her a lifted his coat around her shoulders, pulling it snug around her frame, like a down-filled hug. He swallowed, wanting to clear his throat, and searched for the attention of her eyes with his, lowering his head so that he was almost looking from under his brow to make sure he could see her face.

"You... are not going to die on this mountain. I'm going to make that promise right now. I may not have the right to do that, but I am. So just... believe that, okay?" His voice was as quiet as he was unsure, but managed to not falter on his words. She didn't know it, but he was going to prove to her that Percival Josaiah Theodore Guiton was, from day one till the end, a man of his word. If he had to carry her over his head across a freezing river or throw her across a bottomless gorge he was going to keep his promise to her. Though the rest of his body might be fraying and beaten, his eyes shone with determination and he stared into the warmth he saw when he looked into her large, brown irises and he prayed she could rest her hopes on him. And that if for no one else in his life ever from now and before, to now and forever more, that he would not let her down.

A gunshot echo rang out across the mountain's probably less than half a mile away, and distantly, but with growing clamour, were the shouts of a mob on a hunt moving with purpose toward the spot where Perry and Olivia sat. A single, old breathy howl split the air, calling to it's owner's owner, that a trail had been secured.

In the midst of the moment, Perry saw nothing but Olivia's eyes. The need he had to convey his honest feelings and connection he was trying hard to forge with her necessitated that the rest of the world melt away so that his focus might be so pin perfect as leave his words on more than just her ears. He could see her fear, and her worry, but, even though he knew the weight of being responsible for someone else's hope was something he dreaded more than most anything else, he feared if he did not bear hers now, it might fall somewhere neither of them would find it again. Sure, he'd like to say as a matter of pride and as something of a 'hero' or at the very least a pragmatist, that this was to rescue her in a way that didn't require much of him in the moment and to make sure that she didn't become dead weight. It'd be nice if that were true, certainly a lot more clear, but that wasn't the case, not even mostly. They might have only known the other person existed for less than 24 hours, but it made his heart sink to hear her hope and optimism waning, to think that she might give up or that her pain and fear might consumer her frightened him. Put aside the inferring of dead weight, he was inexplicably tied to her now- their lives, fates, what have you and that connection was the only thing that felt right right now. It was the only good thing in his life, and the only positive point on a canvas of woe and pain and he needed it. Whatever happened, it happened to them together, and wherever she went, she would not be alone whether that was a million paces through a never ending wood, or down into the dark depths of despair. Like a mirrored image or a straggling dog, he would follow her, and perhaps vice versa, and so if he could give her hope, maybe that meant he could give some to himself. Indeed already, with the words leaving his lips, their importance branded his heart; there was no going back. He was going to get her out of here and the need he had to make good on his promise gave him the fuel to keep from giving up and to run from the demons waiting for him to be alone in his head again. But he hadn't meant to force the issue or to make her face the situation any more than she already ways, and yet, there her kind, warm eyes were, swimming in the sunlight with tears.

His voice caught, loaded in his throat and ready to try and recant some of his presumptuous verve to soothe her, when she took hold of his neck and held him. Whatever invisible net had managed to foil his words had trapped his breath as well and for a beat his whole body tensed beneath her arms, frozen without knowing what to do. The obvious answer was to allow her to hug him, but that was just to him. He realized at some point- seeming like he had stayed cornered in mental gridlock for hours- that the normal thing to do was to hug her back. If she didn't need the hug, she wouldn't have gone for it. And yet even before he closed his arms back around her, he remembered the injury to her back and how it had even still been bleeding when they'd woken up. His arms hesitated, moved, and hesitated again and he realized however she'd done it, she'd managed to be so smooth about avoiding his own bruise when- in a seeming heat of the moment- she'd engaged him. How good she must be at dealing with others, experienced and well adapted. He was a mess at these things, which was never in his favor, and, true to form, failed him here as well. His face scrunched in a sort of resigned frustration, and he leaned his head against her hair; it was still soft despite everything that had happened, and he was probably hallucinating but he thought it smelled like honeysuckle or peach blossoms- sweet and comforting. With his mind occupied by the soothing smell of something good, his now unattended arm rose just around her back's gash and cupped the back of her head in one of his palms, the other lifting up around her own arm to rest his injured hand at abouts her shoulder. He could feel the warmth that circulated from her body to his coat and back when she pressed to him, and the heaves of her ribs with her breath. On his neck he felt the heat of her face and the cold whisper of the air over her tears when she sat back. His eyes, unknowing what to expect and leaning into skittishness stared back into hers until she thanked him and he could manage a bunching of his lips back against his teeth and give her a nod. He might have forgotten everything else truly then, were it not for the blast heralding impending trouble.

She was on her feet almost immediately, and ready to bolt, but her hand reached out for his first. He wasted no time in giving it to her and standing as well, looking around and asking the same question she was asking him. The clamoring was getting louder as was the howl of the hound, but Perry felt like he was caught in a loop, swinging his head to one side then the other. He couldn't see far enough to gauge the height of the earth around them and thus determine which direction was downward. He couldn't even tell which way he was facing now. How could he? The sun! He looked for it, and quickly locked on. Somewhere up at his 10 'o clock, hiding behind some bushels of leaves was the morning sun. Morning, okay, so East. That was East. A map flew up in his mental eye of the entirety of North America so that he could tell that East meant toward the Atlantic and the other direction toward the Pacific. But how was that helpful? What could he do with the cardinal directions from here? Okay, well, here was the Appalachians. Who knows wherein the Appalachians, but the Appalachians for sure. And... the mountain range ran North-South, right down the US, so if they went towards Mexico or Canada, they'd surely just be on another mountain and trapped longer, but if they went East or West, they'd get somewhere that was sea level again! Wes- no, no East! East was toward Maine from the mountain's no matter which mountain, and Maine was home and the direction they'd come from and parked their car! If they wet far enough East, they'd get out of here.

"This way!" It was a lot of information connecting itself in his mind, but in the panic of the time they had, it had all managed to scramble over itself in little more than a few seconds and he tugged Olivia's hand toward the direction of the bright sun. The sounds at their backs did not get quieter. As he ran he tried to remember what he knew of real hunting hounds, what worked against them. You should bury the body of a dog a few feet above the body of your murder victim to throw the sniffers off. Nope, that was not only not relevant but horrible. Crossing rivers- no, he was sure that was an old wive's tail propegated by old jailbreak movies; so long as the river was short enough, they could still track you. Were you supposed to double back on your trail? Maybe that was it- that's what foxes did. But it wasn't like they had time for that. Perry's legs carried on even as his brain searched in circles for clues on what to do, and he jumped over tree limbs keeping as much eye out for his direction as the ground beneath him; now that he could see his terrain, he was darn sure he wasn't going to be getting his ankle busted by a rabbit hole or something. The snow covered some things, though, so where he could he avoided landing on anything large enough to cover a foot-sized trap. Even while it worked on the task at hand, his focus had cracks which let in the worry. Those hill people had probably sleapt and eaten- how long would they be able to chase for? The dogs were fast and probably vicious if trained by these people, and he remembered the feelings he'd had the night before about those glowing eyes. What if East was wrong? Sure, eventually they'd get to the Eastern Seaboard, just as, eventually they'd hit Europe, but what if going East right now meant they were actually climbing? What if they were already closer to the Western edge where they'd been? It was still impossible to tell the inclination of their current perch, but the way his thighs were burning made him worry. Of course, travelling over flat land covered in enough debris to almost require he run high-knees was also quite a valid factor. But one way or the other, both possibilities made him slow.

The panic was there, as was the fear, but the energy was basically run out by now. The longer he went, forcing himself on, the more Perry's body began to falter. His muscles had needed the rest they'd gotten, but that wasn't enough. The howls were getting a lot closer a lot faster than the voices, but the voices were indeed closing in.

"--Run 'em down, Cap!"

"--Git 'em, Captain!"

"--Git on!"

"--We got 'em, boys!"

"--Sure is a lotta blood!"

"--C'mon, 'fore we lose sight of 'im!"

"--Go git 'em!"

Perry had no time to count, but there was for sure no less than 5 people in the party at their back. Probably all armed with guns which would do his fists and Olivia's knife little good if they got sight of them. But their sight wasn't gonna get there before that dog. They had to get somewhere away from it, climb over something he'd have trouble getting past. But what? Where? Who know's how far or how long they'd run, but up ahead, there was a clear break in the trees- past them he couldn't see much but blue on top and white on the bottom, and he raced for it. A clear view, a direction to find- finally! They'd get their bearings. He raced toward it with everything he had, throwing a "Look Olivia!" in her direction as though it were hard to find. Throwing himself out of the tree line, he forced his weight back immediately, catching his breath. The reason the tree's ended was because the land ended. The cliff was not sharp, very rounded with snow that was almost knee deep with no trees to stop the gathering precipitation and with some icicles dangling off, but it was down almost 15 feet to a high snow embankment that slid down like a snowboarders dream on a deceptively mild-looking decline for what had to be nearly 200 yards until it hit more treeline. The good news was, they were going the right way- down. The bad news was he couldn't see the hint of a road, a city or the end of the mountain they were currently on, turning back was a non-starter plan, and the dog was here. In a vicious bark, it snarled and tried to jump at them.

Never having been allowed to own a pet that couldn't breath water, Perry had always wanted a dog. Like most any other child, the idea of having a caring, intelligent companion to take on adventures and support him emotionally was a big draw to the man as a boy. Eventually, he'd grown accustomed to not being allowed to have one and had figured he was better off- he'd have to pay for it's vet and food, keep up with its grooming, walk it even when he didn't want to, punish it when it acted wrong, and all such else. And then, one day, like it had gone for his friends before him, it would die and leave him heartbroken. It wasn't worth it. But still, even through his rationalization, he had always liked dogs, always. He felt he understood them better than most- especially whatever the decade's most 'dangerous' breed was and sympathized with the shunned animal. But then, he'd never been personally on this end of an attack. True to the stories, even if the word 'dog' was synonymous with subservience and submission to see one's fangs all exposed and approaching at inescapable speeds really reminded a person that a dog was still an animal, and a big dog could be a very dangerous one. In his heart, he knew that this dog was a product of it's upbringing and what it'd been taught- it chased because it wished to please whomever it was that fed, sheltered, and cared for it, and it would bite to please the same. If it rent him to pieces it was because that's what it had been taught being a good dog meant and that the action would incur the pride of his human alpha. In his heart he understood it wasn't the dog's fault, but in his head all he knew was that this thing was definitely capable of killing him and of killing Olivia, and that it wasn't a tough decision on whose team he'd like to see win. Furthermore, hesitation played no part in deciding what he'd do to make sure he and Olivia remained standing. He'd take those fangs on his flesh if he needed to, and he'd snap that animal's neck if he needed to do that, too. The dog leapt up and he crouched down to meet it without letting it throw his balance too far back, but he had not accounted for force being thrown at his side.

All of a sudden, Perry was thrown to ground at his side, shoulder deep into the white mound of powdered ice, and he scrambled for a second to keep himself from falling over the side. He hadn't landed so close to it that he needed to worry though, but instead turned back when he heard the cry out of the dog and the sound of drips in the snow. He was just in time to see the animal be thrown to the ground away from Olivia, trailing a stream of red so free falling that he was sure something major had been at least nicked and that the canine was almost certainly going to bleed out. He was surprised at Olivia, not really for pushing him, the action itself had been pushed aside his mind for the time being, but for how well she'd handled the tricky situation and how well she'd used the knife. As far as he knew, and with time, as far as he'd remember when telling the story, she'd just as well have been using a shining sword, glittering in the daylight like the weapon of righteous justice and dashing away the creatures of iniquity with a sure hand. Honestly, the cut was so long and clean and quick before he'd seen it that he was temporarily stunned with awe. She raised it again at the animal who was still duty bound to carry on his orders despite his wounds, and sent it off at a run for protection. It'd probably die before it got home especially making it's heart pump with the run, but it would also probably make it back to the rest of it's hunting party who would consequently find no tough work of following it guiding red line to their quarry. In fact, their voices were closing in anyway, and while they'd solved the problem of the vanguard, but the army en masse was going to be on them quickly if they didn't get out from this corner and make their way across the side of the cliff- the only direction left to take at this point. Turning toward Olivia, he reached out for her just as her foot fell through the snow to the air beneath.

Diving after her, he was scared that he'd missed when his fingers closed around themselves, and he clawed his way to the edge scared he would watch her body drop but desperate to get there anyway but was lucky enough to see that she'd managed to catch her hand on some exposed root system from some thankful tree behind them. He reached down over the edge himself, on his stomach, but as his fingers stretched for her, inches of space met him instead. The voices grew louder, and through his teeth he grunted with frustration, clawing the snow from where it was packing underneath him to try and bring himself lower. It worked, and he could now brush her knuckles. His mind began to panic, the wheels turning so fast they were threatening to jump their railings, and the incoming sounds of the mob became little more than unitelligable white noise. This was too soon- he wasn't going to lose her like this, falling away from him. He hadn't even gotten to help her yet. If he could touch her, then by God he could reach her, it was just that he wasn't trying hard enough. If she fell it was because he wasn't trying hard enough, and if she died it was because he'd dropped her in every sense of the word. And right after she'd defended them both- he was no more injured than he had been already thanks to her, and even she didn't seem to have taken claw or tooth thanks to her quick thinking. She was so smart- she'd already thought it through while he was just flailing around with his instincts guiding him. If he had gotten bit and begun bleeding again he would be more bane than boon to their survival and then how would he make good on anything? More and more of his body he sacrificed to the end of the ledge, trying to keep enough balance and counterweight to be able to pull her when he got the proper grip, using the heel of his broken hand to anchor him over that precipice, as he desperately grasped for Olivia, getting more of her hand but wanting her arm, her wrist, the coat she wore. His hands were sweating and he couldn't allow for the feeling of her hand slipping through his.

Then a gunshot rang out, and he jolted, tensing up. It'd flow way over head from him, but it had been going the right direction. Throwing his head back over his shoulder, Perry looked back and could see the forms of the hill people coming through the shadows of the trees- it looked so dark out there now that he was in the light- so forboding and hidden unlike this wide open, pure white snow. From the bowels of those woods, more gunshots began to sing past him. It appeared they were trying to run and shoot now that they saw him, and that none of them wanted to hit their friends but none also wanted to stop and take a proper stance so that their aim wasn't so ineffective. They managed to hit the snow nearby and the ground near his feet, and he was sure one bullet went so close to his ear that the air it dragged behind him had singed his edge. They began to hollar, both in anger and victory, and where no more than 25 feet away, still shooting up in the sky or toward Perry himself, heads swinging as they no doubt scanned for the second person on which they preyed, when one of them began to send up the call. Right as it left his lips it sent Perry's hysterical, flaming blood to ice and he froze staring back in horror, as others joined his song, the last of their group slowing to a creeping walk, smiles twisting open their dirty, stinking mouths as they closed in on the cornered persons dangling from the end of their lives.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!"

"--WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!"

"--OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!"

The way their voices threw out a clear note, before hiking the pitch by an octave at least, calling out to the woods around them was not a sound Perry had taken time to think about since he'd first heard it, but was not one he could ever forget. Immediately his eyes turned toward the sky, and just as soon he ripped them away. The men coming toward him were almost within arms reach of his feet, and Perry could only just barely wrap his hand around Olivia's. He could feel it slipping and he bit his lip.

Please. Please, please, please. There was no other way, so please, let this work. Please let this be their salvation. Please.

Perry felt a hand grab his ankle and he grunted in pain, pushing his hand with all his might against the edge of the cliff and his weight took him the rest of the way, his unflagging captor dragged along. In no more sound than the whisper of his body against the ground, Perry's body silently slid off the ground and over it's side, with nothing but the yip of fear from his leg's passenger and the unceremonious cut of the men's howl to follow him. His mind cocooning itself to preserve his sanity, Perry pulled Olivia's hand from her hold and toward him while they sank through the air, the wind of their passing flapping the sides of his coat around her in the pale serenity of the descent. He did not hear the man screaming for his life as he tried to grab back onto the ground, slipped again, tipped himself into a spin that forced his head to slam into one of the icicles and took away from him either his consciousness or that and his life. He did not notice the panicked shouts from back above for the fate of their hunt or their friend, nor did he hear the sound of his own heart, throwing itself against his rib-cage as if to try and say, he could kill himself if he wanted to but he wasn't taking it down with him. He heard none of it, only the wind in his ear and her breath before him right before they hit the snow.

Untouched, the mound was soft as a pillow if not cold as death itself, but given a few feet of pressure they forced on it, Perry landing on his side, and feeling Olivia land on him, it found itself with some substance and passed their bodies off to the lower altitudes in turns. They were rolling threw the powder, half stopped through the mounds, but the angle not allowing the soft particulates to actually cease their movement. With nothing to grab onto and less and less notion of what was up and what was down, Perry felt Olivia's hand break from his and there was nothing he could do about it. His body could gain no purchase to right himself enough to look up let alone open his mouth and call her name. Each time he tried, it was filled with ice as though the mountain were trying to shove it down his throat. Soon he was sure he couldn't even see light anymore and his brain was completely disoriented. But still he fought. He clawed and stamped and spread and clenched and twisted and jumped but the mountain was more than a formidable opponent for but one man and found no trouble in throwing him further and further down hill. His body was tired, and almost all of it numb- he couldn't even tell his limbs what to do anymore and he knew they were not going to answer him anyway and the more he felt that sinking feeling in his stomach of dropping and his lack of control and the notion that he was separated from she who he needed most, welled up within Perry's stomach all of his anger and fruseration and fear that he bunched himself into a ball, and let it take him the rest of the way down. However long it was, however far he'd gone, it was his leg that felt solid resistance first, and he rolled up onto a tree, smacking his shoulder hard on it, but probably not enough to do any damage. What came next though was the sick feeling of dizzyness as he tried to stand, and the aimless sense of a loss of gravity. He could not feel the ground though he'd managed to hit this tree trunk, and each time his feet extended with the wood's length, the snow simply gave way. Head spinning he opened his arms and clung to the thing until he was struck from behind. It was soft and as it threw him away from the tree, Perry clawed at it, gripping the clothes until he felt a colar and puled it toward him, only to be met by the cold body of the man who'd held him before. He didn't even have time to thrust it away before he rolled onto some more solid snow and went round and round with it before it cushioned his blow against a tree with it's length- the sounds of cracking obvious.

Though he'd flinched on the impact, Perry was unharmed and lifted his eyes to see that the snow, deep enough to cover most of him now that he was on his side on the ground, was not bottomless and he could lean up. His brain chose this time to notice the sounds of snow rushing across the ground, and he wheeled around, clawing his way back to his feet, nearly falling several times as he ran panting his heat in obscuring clouds until he saw something- just a color that was not white, coming down in the snow right toward him. His dark coat was easy to spot even covered in powder, but it was moving fast. If it hit a tree, with nothing to block it, it might not be alright. He slipped as his feet threw themselves forward begging for speed even in the face of the ground's frictional integrity, but he refused to go down, the form moving closer and closer to being completely out of his reach. With no other choice, he dove after Olivia, pulling her close, and using himself as a sled. He could hardly feel the bruise on his back thanks to all the snow both in and on both his shirts, and it helped him to steer properly, turning himself from the trees until finally there was a lip in the land where it curved a bit up and flat and he dug his heels and bad hand in so he could hold her with his good one until they came to a soft, but complete stop.

The double edged sword of being relieved of the burden of pain was that in order to do that, he also had to be relieved of most of his feeling period. Using his body as a sort of makeshift toboggan, throwing his weight one way or the other, was probably about the extent of his fine motor function at this point. Laid up on his back, he could feel the rest of the powder that had followed them down after they had disturbed it rushing by his body only in so much as it forced parts of him to move. At this point only his trunk was probably still retaining life-preserving amounts of heat as most of his extremities were nearly completely numb. His body shuddered in waves, again and again, trying to jump start his temperature and his heart-rate. It felt like he was laying on a beach, sand at perfect body temperature and his body was being kissed by the surf, pushing the particulates of rock and shell in a soft mass around him before pulling it away again. If only life were that sweet. No, he couldn't let his mind wander there long- he'd hate for it to get stuck in so much denial that he completely turned his back on actual reality. So instead he opened his eyes- or tried. It hadn't taken long for any of the ice that melted with the heat of his eyelids to freeze back, locking his lashes together. When he tried to pull up with his eyebrows and down with his jaw, he also noticed the limited range of motion as the same had happened in his eyebrows, hairline, ears, up in his nose, and all throughout his beard. He was going to be a popsicle before too long if the snow was finding no trouble staying cold while touching him and was beginning to bond over him, too.

That wasn't good, but it sure did feel better. He could hardly move, but he didn't feel the tight throbbing on his back. His head wasn't pulsing, but it was light and dizzy. His chest didn't sting, it just felt heavy- hard to lift. That might just be Olivia though. He made no movements toward her, and she rolled off of him on her own accord. Around the powder building up near his ear with the last bits of snow still trying to find their place, he could hear her breaths next to him and even though his eyes still could not manage to open more than a blurry peep hole of sight, he could also hear the weakness of each inhale and the shuddering throughout. He was sure he was no help- his body temperature might actually be lower than hers. Maybe if he just stayed still a little longer, he could heat up naturally? It was actual nonsense, thinking that, but the fatigue he'd put himself into, as well as the cold, the feeling of a numb and abscent body was starting up it's siren's call. This is how people died of hypothermia. But he was just so tired... Olivia's voice reached out to him while he weighed his choices, more or less choosing already by procrastinating in such a way, and he tipped the scales back. He tried harder to open his eyes and lifted a numb arm up to try and wipe the snow away. Of course though, his hand was covered in snow as well and he just started smearing it across his face really. Even if he wanted to try picking it off with his nails, his fingers weren't really up to such a delicate task. Mostly they were just sausages nailed to his palm at this point. His only idea was to put two in his mouth to suck on them until they started to remember what their joints were used for and once he could feel some warmth flowing back through them, quickly move the two digits up to clear his lashes and open his eyes properly. The clear blue sky greeted him quietly but he was still apprehensive about it, so he turned his focus to Olivia,

"Can't say for sure." he was going to say, and had begun honestly, knowing the cold might be masking a problem. But, while he was thinking on how he couldn't even tell if he was moving his toes or if it was just cold that prevented him from doing so or an actual injury, he saw the red film not so much drying- as then it would be brown- but freezing on Olivia's face and all he could manage was a grunt of surprise and a soft sigh. Capillaries of the forehead were prone to overproducing blood during injuries; he'd learned that personally in his life, but also saw it in action during boxing matches where small cuts above the eyebrow, while hardly fatal, were a real bother and would need to be sealed with Vaseline to stop it from blinding the athlete. Her's didn't seem to be in danger of dripping into her eye and cutting her vision in half with the incessant flow, seeing as the snow had begun to do the job ice normally did on injuries, but also to begin freezing even her blood as long as it was outside her body exposed to the air and all. It was even sort of a bit slushy on her face what with blood having a different consistency than water. The desire mounted within him to wipe it away from her eye, but once again he found his fingers unhelpful. The best he could do was lift a statuesque hand up focusing mostly on the motions of the arm in general, and brush it across her face. It was his bad hand so it wasn't much use to begin with, but that one finger was further off course- his ring finger, and while the swelling had mostly gone down, his knuckles were swollen probably with liquid now instead of just inflammation. He couldn't feel it, but he knew he would. It managed to take a streak of red from Olivia either way though, and he let his hand fall back into the snow so he wouldn't have to see it anymore.

With a fair amount of struggle, Perry turned himself over toward her, their shoulders pressed to each other before he tried sliding his legs under him, shuddering in heavy bursts as he went. It was actually starting to feel like slicing pain across the skin f his thighs again as he tried to move them. His jeans were filled with ice and were becoming just as limiting of his motion as the rest of him. He could feel the liquid in his shoes, seeping into his thick socks and immediately remembered that pneumonia was a thing. It wasn't "water on feet in cold weather" specifically that caused the ailment, he knew, but he'd liked Mary Poppins a lot when he'd been smaller, and as far as he knew, everything she said was right. Jane and Michael had been able to take off their wet clothes and place them by a heater before snuggling into bed with special medicine though to stave off the problem. Perry and Olivia were not so lucky. He didn't know where they were specifically right now, but he would guess they had traversed that 2 football fields worth of snow and into the sparse trees at the edge of yet another, though much more open forest, down the mountain as he'd seen before. They'd been the devil's advocate for the likelihood of survival taking the tumble the way they had, and Perry was sure even if they were the kind of crazy that sacrifices people to sky monsters, the hill people weren't the kind of mad that threw themselves off cliffs with no regard for their own lives or safety in order to keep up the chase. He didn't know how they were going to get down to them or how long it'd take, but he knew they'd be coming still, if only to find their bodies if that be the case. They had, after all, now more directly and personally caused the death of one of their own.

Olivia seemed to have remembered him to, and had formulated an idea. As she hesitated about what she wanted to ask about the unfortunate man who had followed after them, the only thing- well more really the first thing- that came to his mind after such a buildup led him to ask, at the same time as she told him if her idea was,

"Eat him?" God, that was stupid. He was so stupid. Why in the heat of the seven h*lls would she be suggesting cannibalism? Why had he thought of it? And, by far most importantly, why had he said any of that out loud? Oh, God. He heard her, by far, much much more proper thoughts around his own voice and knew that his body still had enough energy to throw a flush up across his face and turn his ears red. Indeed, he was surprised he didn't hear steam hissing around his ears as he turned his head away and put it back on the ground to hide his shame.

"Ahhhhh-" he growled more at himself, quietly through the snow, than anything else, and quickly tried to act like it hadn't happened and pretend he hadn't noticed that what he said was more cause for alarm than anything. Embarrassment gave him the energy he needed to get off his stomach and onto his knees again, trying to stand on what felt like stilts or popsicle sticks, as much control and balance as he had.

"Yeah, yeah- that's a good idea actually. Um..." Having to remain a bit crouched, Perry moved a bit further away to hold onto a thin, short tree so that he could manage to stay on his feet. It was like trying to walk on limbs that had fallen all the way asleep. He knees kept wanting to buckle or bend the wrong way and he had to force his feet to stamp a few times to try and work the blood properly into his veins and get moving again. "Yeah, um- he's probably... um...." Looking around, it was basically impossible to retrace his steps back to where he'd been seeing as he'd been on his back the entire trip away from there. And even then, the snow that had still been rolling after they'd stopped did a pretty good job of covering their tracks. It was a nice thought that their trail was cold, but it didn't help right at this exact instance. Instead, relying on what had worked before, he looked toward the couple dozen other trees, small and stunted looking in comparison to the lush forest they'd just leapt from, right at the edge of the snow, and tried to find a color that wasn't white. What had that man been wearing? Had it been brown? That wasn't a helpful color. But there was one tree out there, it's thin trunk less strong with the lack of it's roots ability to reach too far past a layer of surely present permafrost, that was slightly tilted as though it were being uprooted. The weight of two men smashing into it might be able to do that. Maybe 20 yards away the snow had piled up around it, so he couldn't see anything at the base other than white, but there was a mound at the tree's feet that might be compared to a body sleeping beneath a blanket. Though his legs still felt numb, they were once again ready to carry him, and Perry lifted them in the shin high snow and stomped them back down into it, making his slow and meandering, but constant way toward the tree in question. About 60 or so paces at his current ability, he got there and, panting fairly heavily and about ready to fall back and sit down, he bent over, bracing his good hand on his knees and using the back of the other to brush through the snow until he saw the camoflage coat beneath covering the blue body of the man. He sighed a bit, and a smile cracked out of it, but took a deep breath and began clearing the rest of the snow from the body so he could get maybe not just a coat off a carcass that no longer needed much of anything.

Though he knew his heart was pounding and his blood was pumping, Perry was beginning to feel less and less alive. He'd stopped breathing through his nose when the ice crystals he tried to wipe out of his nostrils only multiplied- presumably his steaming breath unable to even make it out of his body before it could freeze properly. His mouth slightly agape, pushing and pulling in air in turns brought cold air to his lungs. It wasn't Antarctica with temperatures so far below freezing they made 0 degrees feel like a nice spring afternoon, but his inner workings were not appreciating being hit from all sides by the chill. Keeping himself moving seemed to be his only saving grace, but how long would he be able to keep that up? He prayed the man-eater comment had not been a Freudian slip situation brought about by his inner desires for helpful calories and that he literally was just going off of what such a buildup in this situation might have led him to believe thanks to television and stories and such. It was like, he didn't really even think that Olivia was capable of such a repulsive act, but then his brain started to mess with him- why couldn't she? She wouldn't be willing to do anything to stay alive if she needed it, even something like that? Besides, why was it that people found cannibalism so repugnant? It was because humans were social creatures, right? And by definition, cannibalism was a foundation shattering threat to society, but then they weren't in society were they? Now they were on a mountain that might as well be called the twilight zone. No- nope, he wasn't going to let his stupid brain try and convince him cannibalism was anything even slightly worth considering. What did human taste like? None of his business, that's what. The only things that ought to know what a human tasted like were sharks and maggots. That was it. Was he a shark? Was he a maggot? No. Honestly, if he couldn't rein in his stupid, stupid, stupid brain he was going to have problems going forward. Right. he just needed to focus on something productive and helpful. Like this man. Or well, this man's body.

As he stopped to look at the body, Perry had to take a second and blink in silence. This man had been alive- had used his life to grab Perry and then to cling for his life to the land which was taken from him. He'd shouted with his voice and his lungs and did everything in his power to live. Maybe he'd even been alive when he'd come falling down the hill, alone and with no one who would help him near, trying just as Perry had to find footing and grips. Maybe he'd been alive when Perry had caught him, and then when they'd crashed into the tree. Maybe he'd been alive when Perry got up and walked away. But he wasn't alive now. His skin was blue and the blood was congealing underneath it as it solidified in his body with the cold, giving him the blotchy bluish look hypothermia victims often had. Was everyone's skin as thin as the transparency of his showed it now? With all the little veins lingering so close to the surface? Perry had been to funerals before- a great aunt he didn't know, a grandparent he'd never spent more than 12 hours with in his entire life, Jessica's dog of 14 years. All of them sad, yes, a life was lost and people were sad, but even though all if them were closer to him than this stranger who'd not 15 minutes prior had been actively trying to capture and kill him, none of them effected him nearly as much. Just the night before, all of his friends had probably been killed. One by one. And yet, he had not seen it. When he saw them last they were alive and though logic dictated he understand they were no longer with him, his psyche had not grasped the fact that he would not see them again truly. They still occupied the same warm place within him, the same worry over them as if they could be saved. This was the first body he'd seen in such a way. The first one he'd seen just before and just after the transition from one life to the next. This was Perry's first real corpse, and Perry could hardly wrap his mind around it. His life was over so easily, so quickly and so utterly without mercy. There was a large wound crushing his head with a sizable dent around its side, and it made Perry hopeful that the man's death had been quick. Shouldn't he be more angry with the body? Shouldn't he be thinking 'that's what he gets' or 'these were his just desserts'? Shouldn't he feel more ire for this dead man? Sure, he felt relief that he was dead when he came up- he wouldn't try to grab him or shoot him or bring the others, but more than that, he felt bad. He felt like this man, maybe 40s or hard-lived 30s, had died before his time. Did he have a family too? People who would cry over him? As early as last week had he hooted with laughter at a story, kissed someone he loved, sang a song, worried about or planned what he was going to do the next week or month or this time next year?

Reaching down, he touched the arm of the man- stiff and heavy. Arms were heavy. Perry's fingers didn't want to curl or pull or work, but it was harder to take his time when that forced his mind to think, what if he could have made friends with this man? What if maybe if he'd lived and he'd had to help and depend on he and Olivia as well, they could have changed him and he could have come down the mountain with them and started a new life as a better man? It upset Perry to have to face this man's lacking lifespan just because he couldn't make his body move the way he needed it to. He began pulling, ripping the snaps on the outside of the outer coat away from each other and jerking the body around irreverently as he did. Don't focus on the man, compartmentalize. Get this part out of the sleeve, and roll it off the back. Snatch the garment off the other part. Yes, this was working. If he could hook his whole fist into something for leverage and just pull, he could make this work, and the toil kept his mind eased. He actively began to convince himself of the necessity of this task. What was this man going to do with any of this? If anyone who loved him found him, they'd surely change him out of these clothes into something proper for burial so this would go to waste either way. His death was not without purpose because they could be saved maybe because of his sacrifice. Lucky for Perry, he was focusing on his stuttering breaths and the sound they made, keeping a steady beat when Olivia called out for him to check the body. Really, he was just in the process of taking everything he could off the man. Under his coat he wore another jacket with a zipper Perry had to suck his fingers again to get a proper grip and work on. He was wearing big snow boots and probably socks underneath. They stank when Perry got the shoes off, but the thick garments could be used as mittens by the desperate and they certainly filled that criteria. Under the man's belt was a knife- a hunting item about 8 inches from the but of the hilt to the tip of the blade, and tucked inside a well used, old leather sheath. Perry couldn't get his fingers to curl around it completely, but he got enough grip to slide the item a little out and saw that it was sort of dull and worn, but certainly could still cut. It was serrated and for a moment, Perry was reminded of the guile that filled these people.

Going inside the man's pockets, Perry began to tip backwards downhill and allowed himself to stumble back a bit just so that he was still moving. Breezes began to move softly past him and though they were the softest of winds, and Perry knew he shouldn't be still long. Doing his best to use his hands as a scoop, Perry fished through the outer coats pocket first. There was a handful of .9 mm rounds- he probably had the gun when he'd gone over but though having a firearm of their own would be so helpful, Perry wasn't willing to sift through umpteen many tons of snow to find it. There was a little can of chaw that felt like it still had something in it, not that that appealed to Perry. Some bottle caps, lint, and a confederate dollar. A surprise to be sure, but not so much as he thought about it more. In the coat's inner chest pocket there was a used toothpick, a condom, and 5 little square-ish rectangles of what was some kind of jerky. Perry licked his lips forgetting almost anything else as he held the little brownish slabs their scent cutting through the air in his palm directly into his nose his body nearly willed it into his mouth, but he ripped his eyes away from the hypnotizing items and tossed it back into the pocket. Best he could guess, they needed snacks while they hunted other people through the wilderness. Maybe treats for the dogs. In the jacket's inner pocket though, there was a knit cap, a lighter, and a crumpled cigarette- hand rolled and apparently old from the state of the paper. All and all, it was beginning to prove an outright blessing that they'd taken this man over the side with them. He couldn't wait to show this haul back to his companion. With one last glance back he saw the man, now in only a ripped and stained t-shirt and jeans, his boots thrown aside and wondered if he should do anything. Swallowing, and taking the moment to let himself go to that place, he agreed with himself that a man had died and a life was a life. He bowed his head to the man and left him with a 'rest in peace'.

"Olivia!" Perry called excitedly as he stumbled back toward her, catching his feet more than a few times on the snow and nearly slamming down into the snow, only to throw himself off course catching himself and have to take his winding path back on course. He could hardly yell at her what they'd gotten, but it was like Christmas had come early. He made much better time coming back than he had going out and came back to her with his arms cradling the bundle.

"There's some pretty good stuff in here." His face, half of it anyway, cold and paling mostly except for at the points where it was still red, pulled up in a little grin as he panted, lifting and offering her a better look at the stuff. He might as well have been 5 years old- he couldn't even wait for her to go through it herself,

"There's a hat and the coat and a jacket, I pulled his socks for mittens, and there's another knife, and, and," he was nearly drooling just working his way up to saying it, "Olivia he's got food." Oh he had to have been out for at least a day. What sense did it make that he should be this hungry. He put aside the fact that that meant they could have gotten him QUITE far away from his campsite, instead focusing on the gift the fates had afforded him and Olivia.

Holding the goods up properly, Perry encouraged Olivia to dig through their folds herself. She wanted to know what was going on in there, all the fine items they'd managed to harvest from the older man, and though he wanted her to know, it felt best that she see for herself rather than him regailling her. In fact, it felt akin to handing her a present and waiting to see her unwrap it. He had spent no money, nor had he had her in mind when he'd picked an item off a shelf, but still there was a kernel of pride glowing in him, bright within his cold body. He didn't question it, instead he tried to guide her toward the inside of the pocket with the top shelf prize nestled within. He wondered if he was hungrier than he was, or less so, not for the purposes of dividing the rations, but more to try and understand if she had had a different experience than he had. Had she been nicked at a different time than he had? Just because they arrived and awoke in the same place didn't mean it had happened all at the same time for both of them. Then again it wasn't like he knew what that 'time' was, not for sure anyway. She might have eaten an hour before he met her or three days. What might they have held her for that long for? He didn't want to know and yet, he had to stop himself from wondering. For now, though, he remembered that when he brought these items, it appeared as though he may have lightened her just a bit, given back a little bit of that hope.

Her hug assured him that he had done well. He nodded into it, unable to use his arms to return it, but bent himself over slightly- at their full height, he was a noticeable bit above her. Still, he noticed he could feel little about the gesture- a stark contrast from the last embrace. Mostly he noticed that his ability to breath was altered and that his back was straightened. The denigration of his nervous system helped spur him to agree quickly to her ideas. As she looked around to direct them away, no doubt wary of pursuit, he agreed that they would need fire, and it would be best to have it sooner or later. She suggested they eat, but it was not the meat slivers he pulled away, but instead the small knit cap- actually knit. Handmade no doubt with dark green, and in a circumvention of interlocking braids. It was thick, woolen and not stretched out yet. He would rather not touch her with his hands covered in another man's used socks, but they, handmade as well, were doing wonders- pins and needles were becoming evident in his palm. His fingers were not yet reimbursed for what they lost, but he was not ready to give up on them. As carefully as he could, he pulled the cap away from the other garments and passed it toward her. Whether she wrapped it around her head, or tucked her hands inside she would be better. He'd seen her huffing into them, trying to pass what little warmth she had from one place within her to another. The cap would allow her to hold onto it- build it up if she wanted. Although, on her head, the warmth would stop passing from it's top and her ears and her heat might clear up. It was folded, and though it might be unfolded and fit around her whole face, like a snug blanket, that'd be no good for seeing so maybe come night. Right now, not only did he agree that they should start that fire and find somewhere safe to rest, but that they should move along.

"It's a good idea, but you'll need to keep your eyes peeled. We're going to need something dry to burn." Their fire could be started with a kindling of hair if that was what it came to, but it would need fuel, and dead wood not soaked with ice wasn't easy to come across in this terrain. "If you find anything you think we can use, give it here." And with that he nodded to start them off, taking steps further and as he went, tucking things back into their pockets. She could continue to use the his coat- he put the new one on. A snug fit- the man was shorter than him, but a welcome addition. Seeming such a waste to hold, Perry thought the inner jacket, worn and grey, would make a better shawl than parcel and put it to Olivia to decide otherwise. Finally, he hooked the knife's sheath's clasp around his belt loop as one might the hook of a pen. With his hands now free, he dunked them deep within the other man's pockets. With the bullets in one pocket and the bottle caps and bill in the other, he would chase them around he cloth pouches, testing to see how good his fingers could get at catching them or moving them about. He was not having much luck but it gave his brain something more helpful to idle on than anything it might have come up with itself. That and his eyes darting around to find a small nook in which they might huddle and something they could carry that might hold flame. It wasn't easy, either. The slope might help them go further toward lower altitudes, but it wanted to take them of it's own accord and every now and again the ground underneath would cause him to slip and Perry's heel would try to fly away from him. With his hands in his pockets, he couldn't catch himself that way- couldn't get his meaty knuckled fists out fast enough and the socks would snag besides. Eventually, he learned to rebalance himself without the use of his arms, pressing them closer to his sides and throwing his weight whichever way would counteract the fall.

As he went, the movement became more natural, but the pain was quick to rear its ugly head. Stuffing his ears near his shoulders, Perry was coming to notice the breeze much more keenly and was not enjoying it's caress. It was only made worse by the fact that the ice that had been trapped between his shirts, no warmth to melt it, was now surrounded by its natural enemy. What little heat his body had, it generated it into that coat and worked at saving what was left of his life. In the course of those events, he felt the slipping droplets of water beading up against his skin and tumbling down his back. They mostly froze up again when met with their bretherin around his wast and against his legs, but the breeze would pass through and rustle all the fabrics up. The coat itself was not without moisture to add to the waterfall, and Perry was circling again and again the thought of hanging his items up against a robust flame and slipping back into them all, calling on memories of laundry fresh from the dryer to color his expectations. They wouldn't smell half as nice and probably wouldn't be as soft, but warm. Warm was all he cared about. The hope for that small comfort drove him on. His legs were working well, but he could feel the snow clinging to the light hairs on his shin, unable to melt whatsoever, and the jeans themselves like cardboard. Where were they going to go?

It was like a desert out there. Not in the most literal sense, but he figurative one that people more often used. Sure there was snow everywhere, and so water if they needed to hydrate which they probably did, but what they needed was somewhere they could warm themselves and rest in secret. They also needed to know which way they were going aside from 'East' and where that was going to take them exactly. The elements were slowly chipping away at their bodies' will and life with precious little they could do about it, and no reprieve to be found anywhere. Perry thought jokingly to himself that if they found a cave with a bear in it, he'd probably sneak in and cuddle up underneath it, regardless of whether it awoke and found it had a new roommate or not. Whatever they needed, they could not find it and could not get it. They were on their way in the most brutal of ways and it was going to be completely by the yanking up of their own bootstraps that they made it. Sure, he hadn't forgotten how lucky they'd been not to die only at least 3 completely seperate occasions since meeting one another, and how they'd been so gifted with the dead man's spoils, but Perry couldn't let himself rely on that- afterall, luck favors the prepared. Hope for the best prepare for the worst was his credo now. Around every turn he needed to assume were enemies and hardships, and if it was, he was ready, but if it wasn't it was nice to be surprised by good things. That said, Perry was already thinking about what they were going to do if they didn't find a shelter by the time he counted out 60 paces 60 more times- the closest he could come to marking time.

It seemed like, though, that they didn't have that kind of time. It was probably noon, or right around then judgeing by the sun's position behind the gathering clouds. Shadows were nearly non-existant at this point- there was a storm planning on rolling in. In fact, if he looked far enough at, it seemed like he could see it- the way he could see rain under a dark cloud, like a fuzzy haze between the sky and the ground. He couldn't gauge how far off it was, but with nothing around to be found, it was becoming more evident that their chances of not getting caught in it were dwindling. And all of that was before Olivia's collapse. He stumbled as she did, more than a few times, apologizing for running into him though he didn't mind and would have removed his socked fingers from his pockets and held her hand if she asked, so he almost didn't notice until he didn't hear her get up again. It wasn't like that's what he was listening to, but that was the pattern that had grown comfortable in his ear. She'd stumble, the coat noises would slip around and there'd be a soft crunch in the snow, before a bit more crunching and once again the sound of footfalls. He turned around to check on her to see her still in the snow and it didn't seem like she was making headway in getting up. Then she explained why. His steps hastened noticeably but not in a panic as he came back to her and tried to bend toward her without throwing himself off. He took a hand away from his pocket, hovered it, then took off the sock and put it back in dry(er) safety, before brushing the snow from around her legs. He couldn't see anything of course- she was still wearing jeans and it wasn't like it was broken and bent back some weird way. It seemed like the pant leg was basically frozen stiff though, which meant there wasn't a lot of heat underneath them. He looked up at her, eyes heavy with concern. How were they going to get to safety if she couldn't walk and they couldn't even tell how far it was. There was a thick breeze, just one, and fairly breif, but it made Perry turn his head to look at that rolling storm as he listened to Olivia's suggestion. He was still for a moment, letting the air tug at him as it brushed by, thinking. Really he'd already come to the conclusion, now he just had to force himself to do it. He couldn't afford the wasted time though.

"Alright- you got it." He agreed, then looked around. Seeing what he wanted, he moved to her gently, watching her for any signs of resistance or discomfort and got behind her, wrapping his arms under hers, and lifting her with some strain. His legs weren't enjoying this. He would have carried her differently if he thought he could instead of dragging her feet like he was, but he couldn't trade quality for quickness right now, and he moved her over to two V-ing trees where a snow drift had built up in the crevice between and behind them. "Clear some ground," he pointed, "I'll get you the branches I can." and he moved off, keeping careful eye on the storm. He couldn't jump he knew, so he had to get somewhere where he could lean against the tree on his tip toes at best. Trumping over to one place and the next, he snapped limbs off trees. A lot of them were easy- probably very dead and would be usefull, but others were harder, still with bits of green inside maybe and very much alive. As he watched the grey clouds thickening, he began to just leave those dangling if he could not get them easily. He thought maybe he had enough after a while, but they'd need a fair amount of fuel for however long this was going to be, and they could NOT run out, and so he'd return to Olivia and leave her the limbs before going out for more. Thrice he followed this schedule, getting any and everything he could see that looked burnable and panting as he returned it to Olivia their pile nearly up to her shoulders at the height she'd been sitting at. Then it started to snow.

It was a soft snowfall- easy, gently flakes fluttering down like feathers lightly. They might even get caught in the air they were so weightless, and drift in little spirals back up or around. The breezes, which were becoming slightly harder and more frequent would sometimes blast a little curtain of the white crystals by one way or another. Now he had to get cracking. Perry took off both his little makeshift mittens and stuffed them deep into his pockets- they were warm for now and he wanted them dry as long as possible. Gathering his energy, he set about his task. He was glad Olivia knew about the tree branches- he wouldn't have guessed and they'd be even more put out than they already were, but he had grown up in the northernmost contiguous United State, and he'd be d*mned if he didn't know how to build an igloo. Over the long, deep winters when he was young, they were a fun activity to do with friends, creating a clubhouse of sorts that got warm so easily and unbelievably being made of ice and all. Teachers had even used it as activities before to get the class involved in learning about convection and radiation- everyone loved and looked forward to that each year. Back then it was fun to leave the warm school and trudge outside into the knee deep snow on the school's feilds where the teachers gathered more from the hills on the sides of the cleared road and had build a little shelter for a bit over an hour. Now it was more desperate than that. IF they didn't have somewhere to ward off the storm where the wind wouldn't blow out their fire and then cover it in frozen water, they were probably going to freeze to death before it ended. They just weren't prepared to make it otherwise. He had promises to keep.

Perry bent over and began ramming snow toward Olivia like a footballer practicing driving off another team on the player-shaped pushing obsticals. He'd stop before it got to her, and then move and start again, building up such thick walls around her. His hands grew cold again almost instantly but he made himself not think about it. Olivia couldn't walk, and he couldn't depend on his own legs to carry her anywhere so he had to do this. He had to build her a safe place. If frozen hands was the going price for her life, he'd pay it twice. The storm was coming harder, the breezes turned to gusts, and the snow to larger precipitates coming down in piles. Perry could feel sweat down his neck, ironically, as all he knew was cold. He moved from one side to the other until he'd surrounded the young brown haired woman- her hair starting to look silver again, white even, like a snow spirit with it's curly waves holding onto the ice. He worked harder. Once he'd gathered the snow, he began packing it in. The wind began flapping his little coat much more notably and it even tugged at his stiff pants. He kept going despite it, and was aware that the was numbing up again, but he knew just as long as he kept moving, he was more or less safe. His arms were tired as well as his legs, and getting sick of lifting and smashing and smoothing and bending and lifting and smoothing and smashing and packing. He knew he was pushing it, he really was- the snow was getting higher and it was getting harder and harder to walk around the growling dome but he just told himself that meant the walls would be even more secure. He also reminded himself every time something inside him told him to give up, or that this was good enough, that as soon as he stopped, they both went out "snap" like that. And all because he just gave up. And so he would keep on moving.

The sky didn't sotp getting darker. The sun could not be traced at all- it was up there somewhere doing it's job, but hte clouds were thick enough to thwart it now. Their fire was now their only source of warmth. Perry had made good progress, but he couldn't help it and he was slowing. The wind blew snow into his eye and he heard the quiet ticks they made against him and the coat he wore and three trunks. IF they could just get that fire kept going they'd be fine. They'd be fine, they'd be fine. He repeated over and over again, clinging to what could be said to be impossible hope. But a lot of impossible things became possible when you're fighting to stay alive. Perry got the dome up and finally over the top. It was hard work, because he had to make sure it wouldn't collapse on top of her while he worked and it had to have a hole near the top but facing away from the wind to let the smoke out but no gusts in, but the extra time and energy won through. After years of perfecting the art in his youth, he could properly build an igloo out of snow even in a storm and he knew it now. All that was left was to get inside himself. The snow had piled up just passed Perry's thighs by the time he was done, the wind was liable to push him over, and the snow made it impossible to see further out than just a few yards. But that was okay- he hadn't left the igloo. He began to dig not unlike a dog, forcing his way further and further down in snall increments before he got to the ground and went straight to the side of the igloo. He had to move back, scooting out to check his trajectory, but at the right time he angled back toward the structure creating a right-ish angle that wind and cold air would have trouble entering through with their hot air inside pushing it out, and broke into the space, already crystalizing around Olivia on the inside with breath and body heat as it did when he was small, creating some air too so they didn't suffocate. His short hewn beard was white with frost, as were his eyebrows and eyelashes, and he was covered head to toe in the stuff, but he could feel the change in temperature and air as soon as he entered and his face trembled into a smile, shudders overtaking him nearly already as he laid half inside the small space, and half in it's hallway tunnell.

"B-built us a- a- a- hou-hou-se." he struggled through weakly chattering teeth, "W-w-w-what d-do y-you th-th-th-think." Honestly he was just tired enough for a little bit of happiness to give him a kind of high delirium, and that's the only reason he was using humor.

Funny- though Perry's body had the energy to rake his entire frame with shivers upon shivers upon shivers, sometimes doubling them up as the head of one ate the tail end of another, he could also hardly move. Though there was much he felt he needed to do at the moment, get the rest of him inside the igloo-proper, get the snow off his face and head before it melted there and became sitting water on his body, taking off layers of his clothes to dry out and so on, his muscles had done what they could and were all but deaf to his demands. It honestly felt like he was a boneless, 400 pound blob of flesh taken out of a freezer to thaw, and every time he tried to move his arm it trembled terribly, might jump or jolt but could do little else. It was a bit worse, though, as he tried to move his fingers. As far as he knew and could confirm with the energy necessary to lift and turn his head, he no longer even possessed fingers. In fact, as far as he knew, they'd already turned died on his body, turned black, and fallen off outside. Wholly untrue, of course- he would have noticed if that had happened surely- but he really could not feel them. Right now, he was so tired though, that he took it as a blessing. While he began warming up, he began to feel the pain of the needles once again, his nerve endings finally able to voice their complaints about what he'd been putting his body through by shocking him as if to try and punish him and deter him from ever doing anything like that again. Hardly the kind of thing he could promise, or anything like it in this situation, but he had to say their argument was quite compelling. Then again, his brain was foggier than the night before had been, and his will was just as tired as his body was, having used it as a tool to drive his near-carcass into keeping itself and his partner from going fully into the black night. His eyes swam around the flickering light of fire and though he felt a bit nauseous, there was nothing for his body to regurgitate and so he needn't worry about soiling their 'floors'. With the last vestiges of his conciousness he forced one last mission right under the wire and scrapped his mitten-socks out of his pockets to dry better at least out of the folds of the coat and in the open where the fire could maybe get to them.

As he was fading away, darkness closing in around his vision, his breathing becoming longer and his conscious thoughts more labored, he felt his body moving. Barely having noticed Olivia was no longer ahead of him and had moved around the doughnut of space to his side, he was surprised but unable to express it with a start or a rapid bout of blinks even. Instead his body, must as a dummy as a person, gave no assistance or opposition as it was moved and his face was laid upon fabric his now mostly unprickly and responsive facial nerve endings could translate to him as damp denim covered thighs. He felt bad and would have moved if he could- his face was covered in crystals and surely cold as stone; he could warm by the fire's heat same as her. But he couldn't move and indeed he was comfortable. He could feel his chest beneath him stretching a bit, pulling at the laceration that called the space home, but as his skin warmed, it became more elastic and besides he became used to the feeling. The most he could do as she got herself resituated was to force out a quiet, whispering grunt until she had him in place. Once there, he glanced up- his eyes rolling back as much of their own accord as at his insistence. Her face, aglow with the warm, flatteringly light of man's oldest and most fundamentally necessary invention, took on the kind of blur as it came near him, as he'd seen in old movies- black and white, usually focused on a close up of the female lead where any and all flaws or blemishes washed away and left an expertly carved marble artwork shimmering on the screen. It was like a dream, if he wasn't half dreaming already. As much out of habit as instinct, his eyes fell closed as she kissed his head he could not coax them to open again. If he could have, he would have raised his hand to hold hers to thank her, for her knowledge and her help, for being there, and most of all for her kindness; she didn't have to act this way, it was well beyond what could reasonably be asked of her as pertained to him, especially given all that had happened to them and the suffering both he and she had been visited upon with. And yet her soft voice echoed in his head as she spoke like the sound of a memory bouncing of a cave that was only getting deeper as he fell backwards into it. Rest. He'd heard the world and like a spell he was gone, allowing, finally for his tired body to be still.

Perry's body went limp quickly, and though it began to heat, he was still beset with shivering fits every now and again that would crease his brow and tense him up. The warmer he got, the more energetic the fits, though he never made it to the worrisome arena of seizures. Though he was not awake to see it happen, his fingers began to move at some point; not all of them and not every part. As he twitched his fingers would jump at their base and maybe spread, but the other joints remained fairly still. The closest he'd come to being awake were fuzzy memories of the smell of burning wood and the sound of wind softly howling above his head across the little hole and behind him out the entrance while little ticking noises kept the assault up on the edges of the hole and outside and against the rather thick walls, stacking their surroundings higher. Other than that, he knew nothing of what happened inside the igloo or outside of it.

Inside his head, though, he arrived in an unfamiliar but intensely welcoming field on top of a field that, in one direction, had no end, but in the other came to the edge of a cliff so high he could see only clouds beneath it. It was summer in this field of grass that he would not be able to say whether it was gold or green definitively, and it was raining. The world around him was just dark enough to feel like his space was personal, but light enough that he could see so far out. Occasionally there would be a cascade of golden sunshine illuminating the rain like dust in an attic or throwing a rainbow that only consisted of honey-yellows, pumpkin-oranges, whites, creams, and copper reds. The wind moved only the grass, leaving the light drizzle to fall uninterrupted, pushing the plants in coordinated waves like waves in the ocean or sheets on his bed when his mother used to fluff them up into the air and so that the fabric rolled from one end to the other. It was rhythmic and hypnotic and altogether soothing to Perry. Though he had no body to speak of from his perspective, at least, he could feel the tickle of the raindrops falling from his head and down his neck or chin or back, and the tingly shivers they'd give him. Wondering why he was not soaked, only then did he realize he was sheltered under a lone, giant, magnificent ancient tree that looked so picturesque from the outside that it must have been a painting and yet with limbs so close overhead that it almost felt like it was hugging him as it protected him from the refreshing summer downpour. The bark looked rough and yet it was comfortably soft and warm- having soaked up the sun beforehand no doubt and radiating it's heat back to the man. Perry curled close to this tree, leaning back against it, apparently at some point having sat down, and watched the waves of grass move whispering softly to him about their dance, pulling at him in his mind, listening to the patter of rain and letting his eye be drawn to every pillar of glowing sunlight and the glittering rainbows of warm colors that they left in their wake like beautiful, rich geysers. He loved this place, wherever it was, this secluded place with just the tree and the world closed in around it and him, right before the cliff to which he could not see the danger at the bottom and the endless world behind him. This was utopia, and he never wanted to leave.