A Fistful of Dust

Rana

The First Night Of The Rest Of Their Lives

He was crying, and it was her fault.

Daniel buried it deep and safe, and she’d forced it out.

It wasn’t her fault. She’d made him remember now for the same reason she’d hid his amnesia from the others.

If Daniel snapped when someone said the wrong thing at the wrong time, the group would lose their heaviest hitter when it counted.

Ignorance was a liability. The Wilderness made innocence a crime punishable by death. Her brother always said that. Better he cries now in safety.

He was crying, and it was her fault.

She couldn’t sit idly by. She couldn’t tear his heart open and walk away. She should say something.

“Daniel,” she said. Good start. She couldn’t tell if he’d heard, with how hard he sobbed. Snot dripped from his nose, and his eyes were puffy. “If you tell me to go, I’ll go. If you tell me to stay, I’ll stay.”

For a minute, he said nothing. Rana worried she’d have to decide what his silence meant but, finally, he spoke, “Stay.”

She couldn’t touch him, but she could make a foam windshield to block the cold breeze. She’d stay however long it took. They were in this together now. For better or worse, they were all in this together.