Feeling mildly slightly, Gwen fell to the back of the group to walk on her own. She wasnât entirely sure what had prompted the sudden generosity, but clearly it was not welcome among this group. She refrained from pitying anyone else who appeared to be struggling. Let them fight their own battles; Gwen would fight hers.
The day wore on, as did their journey. Gwenâs load was light and the walking was not difficult for her. The last time she had been this well-fed was years ago, sometime beyond clear recollection. Her energy levels had increased since arriving in Aires; no longer was it necessary to push herself to her breaking point just to keep standing.
Gwen kept her distance from the stranger, even as Haru carried him upon his back. She observed him with careful, alert eyes, drawing the occasional inference. His dress, his race, and his mannerisms were very strange to her. Evidently, he was some sort of religious figure. Gwen watched the way he allowed himself to be carried, like a wounded animal. Dark would be the day that she allowed herself to appear so disgustingly weak.
The walking continued. Despite Gwenâs light load and increased energy, the hours of walking had long since burned the calories she had consumed that morning. And seeing as her reserves were, well, lacking, she was not pulling from much to keep herself going. At the end of the day, she was still malnourished. Her wounds were not healing quickly, as evidenced by remnant symptoms of her concussion (duly ignored by the affected), and what would probably be diagnosed as anemia if Gwen knew such a thing existed. So indeed, it was with relief that Gwen saw the cart ahead.
But, upon approaching their target, the cart turned out to be woefully small for a group of twelve--or twelve and one, included their newly acquired resource drain. Gwen rested while the others climbed onto the cart. Would there be room for everyone with the injured included? When the last person settled down, Gwen came to a definitive conclusion: even if there was room, fuck it anyway. No way in hell she was crowding herself into that stinking mass of bodies. Gwen slowly followed behind on foot as the cart crawled into motion.
Not taking the cart had probably been a mistake, but Gwen summoned the dregs of her mental strength and trudged onward. The box of rings grew tiresome to carry, and eventually she gave up caring about the condition of the contents and held it sideways, despite the clanging that resulted. If there was one good thing about the situation, it was that she had kept her lovely boots from Earth. Durable, strong, valuable, they held up in any situation, even mountain climbing. That being said, they held up better than her own body too.
If there was one good thing about traveling in a group, it was that threats were much more likely to target someone other than her. Though, to be fair, she was several meters behind the cart and therefore not necessarily with the group at the moment. This was Gwenâs thought when the stranger came out of nowhere and began riding alongside the cart. She didnât like him or what he was saying. Was he threatening them? Tch, she would have a dagger in his horse the moment he made any sort of move toward her. The cold metal was already in her hand, pressed flat against her forearm and out of sight. She kept her distance behind the cart.
The strangerâs words, it seemed, caused quite a stir within the ranks of the âwarriors.â The incidence of mental illness in the homeless population is extremely high, and Gwen knew a panic attack when she saw one. She felt a little bad for Harper and the reactions he was getting. Honestly, they would get nowhere if everyone else started panicking and yelling. The situation would only get worse if they expected him to be able to suck it up. Harper was clearly not in control of the situation, and without knowing the extent of his phobia, it was uncertain whether he would be able to control that fear at all...