pale green eyes reflect golden firelight as her gaze shifts from one unfamiliar face to the next. hannah — no, charlie, she’s charlie now, hannah’s dead — can’t help but press close to the flame. too close, probably, she’s vaguely aware of her skin stinging slightly as it dries, but the way the warmth sinks into her bones for the first time in days is well worth it.
suspicious eyes fall on the old man across from her — old shuck, she’d heard someone in kelso call him in a hushed tone — before darting away again, constantly moving, constantly alert. she isn’t stupid, knows that following the whispers about mad dogs up a frozen mountain in the dead of winter isn’t the wisest idea she’s had since fleeing the black hills, but with no way to get further south and nowhere else to go, she'd had limited options. that doesn’t mean she’s going to throw all caution to the wind, however.
her aching fingers flex around the warm bowl one of the girls had pressed into her hands. the smell of the soup makes her empty stomach growl and turn simultaneously, but she brings the first spoonful to her lips slowly, fighting the powerful urge to wolf it down as fast as possible like the half starved animal she is. instead, she swallows hard, looks from the blonde closest to her, to the dark haired girl farther away, to the boy not much older than herself, before turning back to her meal.
“ meant what i said, ” she rasps out between bites, voice crackling with disuse, barely audible above the fire. “ m’not looking for a handout. i can help. ” if her assumptions of what exactly the mad dogs are doing up on madhee are correct, anyway, but between the rumors she’d parsed and the fact people in town talked about the fiddlers like the citizens of timber lake had once talked the porters, she's fairly confident.
as if to prove her point, charlie shrugs slightly, the stolen rifle strapped to her back knocking against her shoulderblades. “ whatever’s needed. ” // @mountaindmned
