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Concavenator:
Perception of the world returned to Kukri gradually, accompanied by a sense of peace. To her own surprise, the world she perceived, limited to dark slivers of sky where the edge of the canvas fluttered up, did not fill her with horror. She checked all extremities; her relative serenity was not the euphoria of frostbite. She had, after all, survived a fearsome day, and was no worse off for it; and Giya had revealed herself a well-chosen guide.
pinkgothic:
There was still a heaviness to the world, the trace remnant of an instinct to stay tucked in under one's father's downs, but the horror of it all had lifted. It was a mild physical affliction now, remnants of aching to warn her from pulling the same stunt unnecessarily again.
Slowly, she twisted herself up from her position of slumber, shifting into a sit. There was no vivid spark of energy to drive her into enthused travel, just a visceral understanding that the journey was indeed possible.
For long moments, she sat simply in silence, taking in the geometry of their shelter, letting their situation diffuse through her mind, making sense of the last day's events with a fresh perspective.
They were lucky to be alive, on at least two counts, but there was little use in dwelling on it. But she was starkly aware of the way her intellect had shut down during the worst of it - fortunately to no detriment, with a solid intuition to take its place.
Mildly disappointed with her own ability to think straight, she scratched at a few of her feathers near jaw, collarbone, then her left shoulder, before finally moving quietly to fish something to eat out of their supplies, going by touch in the darkness.
Concavenator:
A tablet of dried meat, brittle as glass, shattered under her teeth. It tasted of little more than salt and smoke, but it restored a bit more lucidity in her. Yes, how easy to be lucid, when you're sitting safe and sound, huddling behind walls and filling your belly. She could not chide herself too much: better people than her had been driven to madness, or to death, or to both in succession, out on the Polar Fields. She had volunteered for this voyage with the arrogance of one who expected to do better; but without such arrogance, who would be here in the first place?
The dried meat was gone too quickly, and the temptation to reach for more was strong. The battle between Kukri's highest and basest qualities was decided by Giya beginning to stir, probably awakaned by the rummaging, as the blanket she rested on wrapped around the box of food.
pinkgothic:
Even as Giya stirred, Kukri found herself longing for the return trip. She knew it wasn't the right thing to do at this point and it was easy to override the desire, but it was unmistakably there - to leave, return, let it be someone else's problem. Her body was convinced the readings she wanted to take couldn't possibly be that important.
Thankfully she disagreed.
“Were you able to rest well?” Kukri asked Giya, skipping any platitudes involving the time of day. She had little grasp of how much time had passed since they'd begun their journey, other than 'not nearly enough to get where we need to get' and 'too much for comfort'.
Concavenator:
“I rested,” was the answer. It was not obvious whether this was dry humor or Giya did not consider good rest to be a realistic occurrence. As far as Kukri could determine in the dim light, there was no obvious pain in Giya's posture and movement as she staggered to her own feet. And then: “And rest, did you? We can go, we can go on if you want”.
Even with the wind weaker, and the short-lived dawn approaching, to return to the march was not an inviting idea, especially as the ground was likely to become harsher. Yet the days of spring were not far.