He sat up, watching his mother walking trotting ahead of him, wondering how long she had been silent for, he woke, the dust in the air filling his lungs as he awoke a coughing mess, knowing that this would give away the position, knowing that she’d be mad, but hell, maybe shooting something would bring a smile to her face. They had always been a fucked up family, but it had been with some form of togetherness, seperated they all lost the idea of what role to play, who to be, what to trust. It terrified him. Covering his mouth he wiped the blood away before smearing it on his already stained covered pants, he did not need to give her something else to roll her eyes at, plus what would happen if his inconvenience became more important than the relation, he would be gone in a second.
She stopped, the horse the same, and looked over her shoulder to her son. She frowned and walked over to him. Resting the rifle, barrel-up, against her shoulder while she rummaged through the pack tied to the saddle. Charlene grabbed a water canteen and handed it up to her son.