>Wise move. Let's do that, too.
>You unload the leaden weight from your back - your body seems almost to float in its absence - then free your sleeping bag and unfurl it upon the ground. Kyouko fusses with her own, shifting it a few inches in one direction and then the other and prodding the ground with her fingers as if to find the flattest and most comfortable spot on which to sleep. You're too tired now to even care, and slump heavily upon the first patch of ground your sleeping bag lands on, barely managing to coordinate your limbs well enough to slip inside it. And frankly, that ridge of dirt digging into your back is no more discomforting than merely remaining conscious for another minute. Kyouko is fluffing a pillow she seems to have also conjured from somewhere. You are vaguely aware of her saying something, and then of absolutely nothing at all.
>Your sleep is thick, your dreams muddy, a jumble of disordered fragments - half unseen and half disquieting. There is a face you cannot place, a promise made and then forgotten, something lost that you cannot find again. Was it important?
>You walk. You have always been walking. There is nothing else left once the horizon eats the world. The haze is stifling, like syrupy smoke on a midsummer day. Vines grasp at your throat, tar bubbles in your lungs, someone is shouting too softly to be heard. Is it you?
>You wake up gasping for air.
