The flush of the other woman's cheeks amused Chris enough to make her smile, almost. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a lopsided half-smile for the briefest of moments. Just as no one sang any more, no one blushed, either. They were such oddities, like rare jewels that ought to be cherished. “I'm feeling better,” she replied, but even then, her voice had a sleepy rasp to it. The words were true, though; the more she moved now, the more strength returned to her muscles. “Sorry I scared you, I didn't want to freak you out.”

Chris shifted her attention to the desperately fidgeting horse, figuring Mercy would appreciate the chance to cool her cheeks. Chris needed to stop staring, too, if she was going to maintain her impression of stoic hardbody. 

The horse's straining movements coupled with Mercy's quiet laugh made it harder not to smile, or at least smirk.

“He's beautiful,” she murmured, barely aware of her own words. She stepped closer to the horse, standing opposite Mercy and pulling her hands from her pockets to stroke his long face. “Hey, boy,” she said quietly, running one hand over his coat, while the other gently held his head still. Marvelling at the healthy, wholesome look about him, she wondered how he managed to survive the infected. Lloyd's poor dogs hadn't, and that made the horses, and the cow, and all the animals that much more important. Chris chanced a look at Mercy. “What's his name? It is a boy horse, right?”

---

Tony coursed through the house in his mission to find whatever might be useful to communications. He swept, mopped, wiped and tidied as he went, and slowly the house started to gleam. But his search yielded nothing. Whoever holed up in the farmhouse prior to their arrival – Lloyd's family, he assumed with a wave of unnecessary remorse – they only thought to stockpile food and all that was vital to keep living. There was an old, broken computer and a radio, but without tools they were almost useless. It so happened that Tony couldn't find any tools, either.

He made his way slowly to the attic, armed with his broom, for there were sure to be plenty of cobwebs. In no particular hurry, and still getting used to that feeling, he paused to sweep the second floor halls and the stairs, and give the banister a wipe down. For a tiny moment, he wondered if his efforts were something to be proud of, or if he was wasting time. Refusing to think such things, he flung open the door to the attic and strode in.

[i]Oh dear[/i]. He forgot about the twins.

Standing a few strides forward of the doorway with a broom in his hand and an array of cloths tucked into his belt, vulnerability seeped from his every pore. The sudden attack of uneasiness and perhaps even fear became painfully obvious in his eyes, his tightened grip on the broom handle, and the shiver that ran over his back. He faced the twins and uttered, “H-Hello?”