She nods slowly and I set off again, expecting her to follow me across the clearing and into the trees on the other side. Because, for all the annoying things Raven is, she’s also smart enough to know that she’d never survive alone up here and she better stick close to me if she wants any chance of it.
We hike along in silence for a few miles, the terrain becoming steeper and harder to pass, but I can feel her need to say something like a physical hand reaching out from behind me.
Another minute passes before she finally cracks.
“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Does it matter?”
An annoyed sigh floats to me several yards ahead of her. “I guess at this point, no.” She keeps trudging along, not stomping nearly as heavily as before but struggling with the terrain enough that I have to slow way down to avoid losing her. “How much farther?”
“A while.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means a while.”
There’s no way I’ll tell her how far we really have to go tonight.
Raven would drop to the ground and give up just hearing how many miles lie ahead of us up the steepest and most treacherous part of McBride Mountain.
It’s the part of the mountain no one has ever lived on because surviving up there is nearly impossible, especially in the winter.
“I’d be able to move a lot faster if you weren’t with me.”
She scoffs. “Well, that was your choice, buddy, not mine.”
“I don’t really think I had a choice.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Fuck.
“Nevermind.”
I try to block her out, attempt to pretend she’s not there as we keep hiking, as my boots move over the familiar terrain.
The path wouldn’t be visible to anyone else, because I’ve been careful to avoid leaving an obvious one to follow, but I know this part of the mountain even better than my brothers.
Time ticks away, the moon moving across the horizon, peeking in through the canopy to light our way at times, and others, completely hidden until it’s almost pitch black.
Raven stumbles behind me, releasing a frustrated groan and cursing me a thousand different ways under her breath. “Don’t you have a flashlight or something?”
“Of course.”
She growls. “So, why the hell aren’t we using it?”
“Because I don’t need it.”
“What about me?”
“You’re following my path.” I don’t bother looking back to make sure she still is. “You’re fine.”
She huffs again. “Nothing about this is fine, Connor.”
I would love to argue with her about that. It’s genuinely the only thing Raven and I ever do—butt heads and get under each other’s skin. But this time, she isn’t wrong about the situation we find ourselves in. She’s just wrong in directing her anger over it at me.
“You’re right, it isn’t, but you brought this on yourself, Raven.”
