Whitewater Gorge It feels good to mess it up

Not very far at all, she replied, letting the smile pierce through everything else upon her face. I promise. 

She was okay with going slow; her crooked foot necessitated it. It would hardly be different from her usual travel, and probably more of a blessing, given that she often felt rushed.

No, she took her time with the girl, mindful of her hunger (and the hours slipping by, too—she didn't like to be away from the plateau for long). Eventually, the two made it there. . .

. . .and as to what would happen next was anyone's guess.