when: February 26th; late afternoon where: so close to the farm that you could probably see it if the fog wasn’t doing its job.
@sagetomashardy
If Mallory squeezes her eyes shut hard enough, maybe her ears will pick up the slack and grant her the ability to use echolocation. She walks blindly along the path, arms outstretched and fingers wiggling in an attempt to find anything, feeling not so much claustrophobic in the fog, but certainly lost. Her fingers brush something wooden. A tree?
The idea of getting lost in the jungle has her shivering, twisting around, arms still outstretched and heading back the way she came, muttering to herself. Murmurs reach her ears; she can’t tell if it’s a person, or the stupid fog, and she frowns, eyes still closed, and says in an equally quiet murmur: “Who goes there?” If she can just fine a sign - something to give her direction. Her fingers wiggle, and she walks smack into another person, merely brushing their face before she’s flailing backwards.
“Who is this?” she demands, peeking an eye open, half thinking she’s walking into the goat. A goat wearing clothes, though. So not a goat at all. Tomas is a familiar sight, albeit an unexpected one. She jumps to her feet, gaze flickering around them. Fog, fog, and uh, of course, more fog. “Oh, Tomas, I thought you were-- er, someone else.” Her lips screw up into a half smile, but it fades an instant later as her eyes narrow. One of them is in the wrong place, that’s for sure. “Wait, what are you doing all the way out here? Are you lost?”