the last of us. ─ au

distraction from purpose.

Ice thin as needles spiderwebbed and cracked beneath the hooves of the horses beneath them as they slowly plodded along the creek trails to the east of town, their breaths coming out in small puffs of air before their faces. Animal tracks were erased by the large steeds as they dragged their feet through the snow, tails flicking as their riders adjusted themselves atop their saddles. The only sound between them was the nickering of their rides and the occasional sniff against the dry air. 

Emma didn't dare glance over to her partner and risk seeing that blank, neutral expression plastered over Stefan's features, so she kept her gaze stuck to the sky overhead. Branches heavy with snow threatened to drop their loads upon her head. Somewhere nearby, out of sight and far from reach, a mourning dove cried out its methodic coo. 

It was times like these, when the rifle seemed too heavy against her back and the silence seemed to stretch on for so long she knew she would fall short even if she attempted to run its length, she would fall short, that she wished she could sprout wings like that dove and fly away. If she had the chance, she thought, she would fly far enough she would get turned around and never find her way back home. 

What was there for her these days, anyhow? 

"Watch it," came Stefan's warning, and Emma looked down from the gray sky long enough to stop herself from steering Cisco off the small ridge they were walking and into a steep ravine. He waited for her to correct her course, deep, dull, jewel-like eyes tracking her jerky movements and pulls of the reins, before clapping his own and guiding his mare back to her slow shuffle. 

They had walked this trail together enough times to know they didn't need to rush to their check-in point. Any infected around these parts had been cleared out months ago. Usually, they used the time to chat, to smile at the other so gently and kindly that one of them looked away to hide the flush in their ears that was not from the cold. 

Now, it seemed to make conversation was to drive themselves toward destruction. 

The pair fell into step alongside one another once more, heads bowed and fingers toying idly with the leather of their reins. Emma pursed her lips, wishing nothing more than for this gaping, bottomless pit of guilt and shame and anger in her stomach to either vanish or swallow her up with it. 

She took a breath in an attempt to make it go away. 

"You been sleepin' okay lately?" 

It was the worst kind of start to any conversation the two of them had shared; typically, there wasn't any need for small talk like this. They knew how the other slept, because he would sneak around the block after dark into her garage and tangle himself in the sheets with her against the cold of the night. They knew how the other ate, because she crossed her legs to take up space on the bench in the mess hall and didn't put them down until he headed her way with his own meal. They knew anything and everything about the other because they were practically braided together at this point, two ends that had met all that time ago in Georgia after the end of the world. Now, it felt as though they had been severed and unstrung. 

Stefan sniffed and bobbed his head, freckle-dusted cheeks watercolored pink from the cold nipping at his exposed skin. "Fine," he answered in that short, curt way he did when he was upset. Emma hated that. "Have you?" 

"Sure," she said, and that was that. 

For a long, quiet few minutes, neither of them spoke again. They only steered their horses along the creek trails toward the three-story bookstore rising up against the horizon through the snow-covered branches and treetops. From here, it looked abandoned, picked out and over through the near decade or so since the fall of humanity. Anyone who knew the code to the combination lock and the way past the hole covered in the wall knew it was far from that.