[Freya is in the other room trying to coax a fire from a small pile of kindling when she hears someone shifting around. At first, she dismisses it, but since their team had split for a day to cover more ground, the only other person in the house with her was Al—and that doesn't sound like Al. It sounds quiet, which is everything that Al isn't. There's no scraping of metal against wood, no clanking of him standing up or walking his big metal boots across the floor.]
[she's on her feet in an instant, frozen stiff and listening intently. The door opens. And then there's Al's voice.]
Al!
[she dashes out of the room; if there's an intruder, she's going to kick their ass. Or help Al kick their ass. Or just ask them politely what they're doing coming into people's temporary houses without asking—]
[she stops short in the middle of the room. Al isn't here, but one human is. A very, very sick-looking human, wearing no clothes at all and standing just outside the door, in the snow. For a moment, all she can do is stare in bewilderment.]
no subject
[she's on her feet in an instant, frozen stiff and listening intently. The door opens. And then there's Al's voice.]
Al!
[she dashes out of the room; if there's an intruder, she's going to kick their ass. Or help Al kick their ass. Or just ask them politely what they're doing coming into people's temporary houses without asking—]
[she stops short in the middle of the room. Al isn't here, but one human is. A very, very sick-looking human, wearing no clothes at all and standing just outside the door, in the snow. For a moment, all she can do is stare in bewilderment.]