(no subject)
[ Connie and York are still asleep when he crawls out of bed at nearly two in the morning. He's sore and exhausted and shaky most of all, which means that sleep isn't going to happen any time soon. He takes his jacket off of the back of a chair and slides it on, and realizes he can't go with armor without being too loud. Well. The garden zones are safe enough, he figures, arming himself, slipping out the door with a note scrawled for the girls.
He makes it there shortly, and finds the nearest hill, flopping back onto his back, enjoying the press of grass. The desert hasn't been awful, but that and a ship-- god, he's just grateful for grass. ]
He makes it there shortly, and finds the nearest hill, flopping back onto his back, enjoying the press of grass. The desert hasn't been awful, but that and a ship-- god, he's just grateful for grass. ]
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