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"RUN IT BY me again, would you?"
Oliver resists the urge to roll his eyes. "We're just going to... knock?"
"Is that a question or a statement?"
"Can it be both?"
"I'd prefer not."
Oliver stops and turns to face Darcy, his companion. She stares at him, a look of bewilderment and immense regret written across her features. He gets it. He does. After the few miles they've walked, Oliver has finally realized that perhaps his plan would've done well with some better development.
"You could've stayed," he tells her, foot digging into the sprawl of yellow leaves underneath his feet.
"I wasn't going to let you go alone," she tells him, finger playing with the bandana on her head.
"You would've been safer back home."
"That's not my home. That's just a place I live in."
"A home is a place you live in," chuckles Oliver.
Darcy begins to walk again, and this time, Oliver allows her to take the lead. Her large backpack cover most of her upper body, so he can't actually see her. She found a large stick a few miles back and has used it to hold herself up, even though she has no gait problems. Since their departure from Woodbury, she's talked, sung, and recited all she knew of the number, pi. Oliver will admit that it's nice to be with someone. It's less lonely.
"Home doesn't have to be a house," Darcy continues, snapping Oliver out of his thoughts. "Home can be a person, a place, or thing."
"I think you're talking about a noun."
"Shut up. What I'm trying to say is that a home shouldn't be limited to the place you live in."
