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It was a long, somber walk from the dead city Mort’ton to what remains of Burgh de Rott. The wilted refugees shambled in a loose formation with their armed and armored guides up front. Each individual was pale and anemic with twin scars or scabs on one side of their neck, and all are clad in tattered robes and hoods to protect from the biting wind.
Among their number are two girls that trail along in the middle of the group, separated from the others by only a few feet but exist in their own world. The whispered words of the adults around them carried past their ears without heed as they march on drearily.
“Why do people live?” The black-haired girl asked.
There was no response from the blonde-haired girl, but their tired eyes met briefly.
“We look for food right? We find it; we save it, and then hole up thinking that something might change for us.”
The blonde girl let out a brief hum to signify she was pondering her friend’s question. After careful consideration, the blonde girl raised her hand and gave the black-haired girl a firm smack on the back of her head.
“Gah! Marie…” The black-haired girl rubbed the back of her head and winced as the sting of the blow began to rapidly fade.
“Had to make sure you didn’t go crazy, Lydia.” Marie clasped her hands behind her head, anticipating a retaliation that never came.
“I’m not…” Lydia said in a low tone.
Her dark eyes fell toward the ground as she continued to walk. Marching like this had become monotonous, neither she nor Marie really noticed how far or how long their legs shuffled them along. After some time, a feminine voice called out from near the front of the group – it was time to make camp for the night.
The girls looked ahead as the caravan began to disburse into the woods on the side of the trail. Two of the guides had taken their roles as porters, and carried tents, bedrolls, straw mats, and blankets for the others. They began laying out their supplies with many of the men aiding them in setting up for the night. The women, as well as the girls, began to sort out the rations for the night.
As Marie divvied up salted meats and hardtack, she and Lydia felt a gentle hand on their shoulders. They turned to see their head guide, a woman garbed in black robes and a face mask, looking down at them. Only her eyes were visible, and though they were tired and drained, they creased as if a smile was hidden behind the cloth.
“Why don’t you two brave girls help me gather wood for the fires?”