With every fleeting touch of worn shoes against solid ground, the pounding in his temples grew & grew. His throat was dry & his lungs were screaming for air, — their climate wasn’t made for running, ironically enough. — Like that would stop him. Besides, he accepted the challenge; after everything they’d been through, he needed to feel strong. Like he was capable. One step. Two. Three.
In the end, Minho only knew how to run.
A quick glance towards his expedition partner showed him coming to a stop. He huffed out, following suit with his hands on his knees. While he finally caught back his well-earned breath, he surveyed Thomas and met his gaze; the shank looked like pure klunk, but otherwise alive.
——And that’s when he heard it. The sound so distant and small, yet eno- ugh to make his heart-rate quicken and a hard lump form in his throat. Eyes glared at the sky and what he saw sent a chill down his spine.
Storm clouds.
Minho squinted as the first drop of rain hit his face, lowering his line of vision once again to Thomas. He could almost smell the copper of sin- ged hair and burnt skin, feel the flames as they danced over his clothes; — hear the ringing. He had to stop thinking. Squaring his shoulders and tilting his head, he tried to swallow and keep an air of calm. ❝ Well, shuck. ❞ His eyes betrayed him; filling with panic and an edge of fear. ❝ Think we can make it back ? Unless ya know of any shelter ? ❞
Thomas can't help but to gaze over at Minho, a bit of worry grasping over his chest, squeezing until it was almost like he couldn't breathe for a whole other reason than just running far from their new home. He knew that storms and Minho didn't mix. Not after the Scorch-- what they had been through. He could still distinctly remember the smell of charred flesh, sickly sweet in the dusty night air. He could still hear the screams and the panic and see the flames ignite on his best friend as he tumbled down after being struck by a stray bolt of lightning.
He knew what storms meant to Minho full well. The look in Minho's eyes betrayed everything his face said and Thomas knew. Minho couldn't hide anything from him anymore, which made him feel all the more guilty about hiding everything from him. He forces those feelings aside right now, glancing up as rain started to spill onto him, splattering freckled skin in droplets of fresh water, soaking through his shirt in dark splotches.
They were at least a few miles from home (Ha. Home. Thomas couldn't believe he was calling it that) and he knew they couldn't outrun the storm. It was a force of nature, and nature couldn't be stopped.Thomas glances back over his shoulder quickly before pulling himself up into a standing position, having caught his breath back already. His legs screamed and his ribs felt like he'd been punched, but he knew they had to risk it, had to get back.
"We can try and make it back," he says, brows furrowing. "Or we can head for the trees." Then they would only have to worry about getting out of wet clothes when they got back and not another lightning attack. If Minho got hurt out here, Thomas didn't know if he would be able to help him.
