Approaching on bare, silent feet, Jillian tore Gerald out of his vengeful thoughts when she dropped her shirt on a nearby rock with a watery splat. She could only hope it would be dry enough to wear by the morning; at least it was somewhat windy. Next to the rock, she placed the sewn-together fabric that passed for shoes which were mercifully fashioned for her, though she hated wearing them all the same. A fresh breeze sent shivers down her spine and caused her arms to wrap protectively around her body. Spying her gloomy ally, the witch approached him with a certain stride and seated herself next to him on the stone he sat on.

“Don’t even think of protesting,” she began, pressing her shoulder against his. “I’m freezing my tits off.” Her eyes stared into the gentle campfire, longing for its warmth. For a while, she simply sat there in silence, soaking in what little heat she could and, eventually, also the stinging smell of his tea. Upon catching a whiff of it, she glanced at his cup and her tongue almost recoiled in memory of the taste.

“You sure seem to enjoy that vile brew.” She rubbed her arms and looked for eye contact. “Say, Gerald. We… have a lot of unsaid things between us right now. We’ll need time to get through all of it, I imagine. Time and trust. Both of these are hard gained, as it turns out.” Her voice was soft-spoken and gentle, both as a result of feeling tired and cold, as well as because of her desire to approach Gerald cautiously; less so in an effort to treat him tenderly, but in an attempt to avoid his cold-hearted rejections that he so enjoyed throwing in her face every so often.

“But, we do have a little bit of time as it stands. Is there… do you want to talk about something? Maybe understand each other more, or clear up some misunderstandings. It’s kind of hard to believe,” she chuckled briefly, “but we’re still practically strangers, Gerald. To me at least, it feels like it’s been a week.”