[By now, she has a fairly extensive mental map of the area, at least within a few-mile radius. There's nothing to do, nothing to keep her sane, but to wander. Every morning, she rises as early as she always has (not that she ever sleeps much; her nightmares are worse than they've ever been) and sets off, bow and quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. She never finds much of anything, but at least her thoughts can be kept at bay while her restless feet have something to occupy them.
So she knows exactly where he's described.
After a time, she approaches with quiet steps, her senses as alert as they'd be on a hunt as she scans her surroundings. Just in case, her bow is directly in her hand instead of over her shoulder, ready to be placed into a defensive position at a moment's notice. (People like them, survivors like them, know to be ready for anything.)
She isn't ready, though, for spotting what she's been looking for. Immediately, she stops in her tracks, unable to do much of anything apart from let out a very audible gasp, one that would obviously give her away anywhere. In a setting that's still so strange, there's one thing that jumps out as familiar. Achingly so.
Unless she's hallucinating, it's him. Really him. Not on a television screen, not a product of the thoughts that continually haunt her, but existing in the flesh, standing just a small distance away.]
action!
So she knows exactly where he's described.
After a time, she approaches with quiet steps, her senses as alert as they'd be on a hunt as she scans her surroundings. Just in case, her bow is directly in her hand instead of over her shoulder, ready to be placed into a defensive position at a moment's notice. (People like them, survivors like them, know to be ready for anything.)
She isn't ready, though, for spotting what she's been looking for. Immediately, she stops in her tracks, unable to do much of anything apart from let out a very audible gasp, one that would obviously give her away anywhere. In a setting that's still so strange, there's one thing that jumps out as familiar. Achingly so.
Unless she's hallucinating, it's him. Really him. Not on a television screen, not a product of the thoughts that continually haunt her, but existing in the flesh, standing just a small distance away.]