Whitefish River What did you have left to lose?

There was a silence between the two figures as the girl returned the blank, hollow stare - as if she was void of emotion just as the ghost herself seemed to be. The tornado of pain dimmed sometimes, and in her current state after her escape from the boogeyman, she felt not disimilar to the pebbles and stones lining the river. Lodged into place but able to wash away with the gentle push of water that would shift the stone and sent it floating down to the unknown.

Then the moment was broken, and the stranger moved toward the river's edge, intent only to drink while the scarred dove seemed to drift in and out of reality. That's how she felt inside, though whether something as subtle as the blinking, drifting thoughts swirling through her head could possibly be noticed in her stance was a feat she did care to know.

Suddenly there was a snap from the ginger-furred girl, who lurched away from the water with a violent surge of what seemed to be fear, perhaps a reminder of an event that had long since passed. She could understand the movements if that was the case, for she had suffered many flashbacks to the days that she wished so desperately to block from her mind with the force of which she used to block others from warming the heart she locked with a rusted key.

The meeting was brief, and as it ended, Gwen nodded to herself in silent acceptance before trailing away into the depths of the wood. This river as it continued to flow, would likely not remember the day the pair in their quiet approaches split away, departing as though the encounter had never taken place.