Misha continued along the uneven ground of the unfamiliar desert, weaving her way through patches of rocks and sparse foliage - mostly cacti and weird light-colored brush. This landscape was like nothing she had ever seen before, either in her years in the forest or the numb memories of her patched childhood, moving between relatives' houses in the wide and empty farmland of Kansas. She slowed a bit once she was sure the man and woman weren't yet pursuing. "What am I doing," she murmured so herself. The sun was hot, beating down. She could see a skull in the sand like some macabre prop from a western film. She had always planned on dying young, but it was more 'bleeding out' than 'drying up.'