[She rises up. He thinks she's going to fight, but when have the dead cared to fight? But she's hardly like the rest either. But wouldn't that make her less inclined?
He goes back and forth like this, stupidly, until he catches the way she buckles. Automatic, he tries to reach out, to steady her, and further double-check what's wrong. She hasn't the patience for this. She determines he's not food and continues off and he's left with no clearer idea as to what's wrong.]
Ryder...
[He pleads, but it's too late to get himself out of the doghouse. He says and starts after her.
He's not unused to being led. He's followed after survivors dozens of times. Hell, he followed her into that shed, even though the very thought made his stomach churn. The only difference now is that she's dead, like he's dead, and so the path feels even more aimless than usual.
She does take to the dog toy. That brings relief. Less damage done-- for her anyway. When other dead are drawn, rushing like they're prey, there's a second in which he falters, a noise of fear slipping free before sense catches up. The dead are looking for a dog. Not them. A dog. They are dead and the dead won't--
That thought is interrupted as Ryder claws at the face of one of the other dead. Another bad memory flashing in his mind like blinding lightning, there and gone but searing marks where it was, putting pain in his jaw. He pulls her away. The dead aren't bothered by the offence but he can't bear it. He takes charge, leads them to water, and cleans her up again.
He hasn't talked enough today. She's not going to make progress if he doesn't. This fact makes him feel like enough of a broken thing that he sighs raggedly and draws a hand down the good side of his face. He misses that first rasped out word. He nearly runs right into her when she suddenly stops.]
Ryder? What--
[His brows furrow and he looks up at the building. Then his eyes go wide.
He watches her make her way to the door. He doesn't know if it's funny or just sad, the way she tries with that. She looks to him for help though and either way he's not about to deny it. He steps up and guides her from the door. Her hands are taken in his. He steps back, through the opening of the big glass window, knocking shards off with his elbow to keep them from catching on her. Then he pulls her forward.]
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He goes back and forth like this, stupidly, until he catches the way she buckles. Automatic, he tries to reach out, to steady her, and further double-check what's wrong. She hasn't the patience for this. She determines he's not food and continues off and he's left with no clearer idea as to what's wrong.]
Ryder...
[He pleads, but it's too late to get himself out of the doghouse. He says and starts after her.
He's not unused to being led. He's followed after survivors dozens of times. Hell, he followed her into that shed, even though the very thought made his stomach churn. The only difference now is that she's dead, like he's dead, and so the path feels even more aimless than usual.
She does take to the dog toy. That brings relief. Less damage done-- for her anyway. When other dead are drawn, rushing like they're prey, there's a second in which he falters, a noise of fear slipping free before sense catches up. The dead are looking for a dog. Not them. A dog. They are dead and the dead won't--
That thought is interrupted as Ryder claws at the face of one of the other dead. Another bad memory flashing in his mind like blinding lightning, there and gone but searing marks where it was, putting pain in his jaw. He pulls her away. The dead aren't bothered by the offence but he can't bear it. He takes charge, leads them to water, and cleans her up again.
He hasn't talked enough today. She's not going to make progress if he doesn't. This fact makes him feel like enough of a broken thing that he sighs raggedly and draws a hand down the good side of his face. He misses that first rasped out word. He nearly runs right into her when she suddenly stops.]
Ryder? What--
[His brows furrow and he looks up at the building. Then his eyes go wide.
He watches her make her way to the door. He doesn't know if it's funny or just sad, the way she tries with that. She looks to him for help though and either way he's not about to deny it. He steps up and guides her from the door. Her hands are taken in his. He steps back, through the opening of the big glass window, knocking shards off with his elbow to keep them from catching on her. Then he pulls her forward.]
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