*Garan and Maeve*
The fire crackled softly as it melted a widening ring of snow at its edge. Maeve and Garan sat opposite each other, both staring into the flames, lost in their thoughts.
“I’m going to set up the tent,” Maeve said finally, more to herself than to Garan.
“Why bother?” Garan asked. “We won’t be here long.”
“You have no idea how long we’ll be here,” Maeve said.
“It won’t be long,” Garan repeated. “One way or another.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. “Not if we freeze to death,” she agreed sarcastically. She rifled through the one pack they now possessed: their supplies discomfortingly meager.
“Freeze, starve, whatever,” Garan said. “We’ll likely be mauled to death before any of that, anyway.”
“Give up, then,” Maeve spat. “Just go. Your leg is well enough, you could make it to the Gap. Go.”
“Then I’ll definitely be mauled to death,” he said as he stood. “I think I’d prefer to freeze.”