"I agree. They're not dead." Courfeyrac closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on the sense of Enjolras and Grantaire being out there, just beyond his reach, alive and fighting, and he desperately wants to be with them. It's a sense he's been having since he first heard of the plane crash. It's one of the reasons he believed so happily, so readily when strange messages began appearing on Enjolras' journal. His connection to his two friends hasn't been broken. They're still out there.
And he and the others are going to find them and bring them home.
The fact that they have to start by abandoning people they could help stings, but forcing himself to remember what Eddie had said about the others dying helps him to come to terms with it. Hopefully rescue will find these people. If it doesn't, at least they won't get eaten by carnivorous trees. "We're currently walking targets. And even though I share your faith, Bahorel, that anything targeting us--or Enjolras--has bitten off more than it can chew, we'll be sparing these people that trauma, at least."
Slinging his backpack onto his shoulder, he unzips it and pokes through the water-logged contents, eventually pulling out a compass. A towel and some ibuprofen and a set of dry clothes that didn't have sand in them would be appreciated--especially a set of dry shoes, the squelch every time he shifts his weight is going to drive him insane--would also be appreciated, but the compass will do. Holding it out to Combeferre, he smiles. "Here. I think I packed about a half-dozen of these, all in different parts of my luggage, and now I feel less paranoid and more prepared. At least we can know what direction we're walking in."
Bahorel says something quietly, and Courfeyrac turns to ask him to repeat it only to see Bahorel slipping off into the jungle. Turning back to Combeferre, he grins widely, pushing his sea-drenched hair away from his face with one hand and gesturing toward the jungle with the other. "After you?"
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-04-24 09:12 pm (UTC)And he and the others are going to find them and bring them home.
The fact that they have to start by abandoning people they could help stings, but forcing himself to remember what Eddie had said about the others dying helps him to come to terms with it. Hopefully rescue will find these people. If it doesn't, at least they won't get eaten by carnivorous trees. "We're currently walking targets. And even though I share your faith, Bahorel, that anything targeting us--or Enjolras--has bitten off more than it can chew, we'll be sparing these people that trauma, at least."
Slinging his backpack onto his shoulder, he unzips it and pokes through the water-logged contents, eventually pulling out a compass. A towel and some ibuprofen and a set of dry clothes that didn't have sand in them would be appreciated--especially a set of dry shoes, the squelch every time he shifts his weight is going to drive him insane--would also be appreciated, but the compass will do. Holding it out to Combeferre, he smiles. "Here. I think I packed about a half-dozen of these, all in different parts of my luggage, and now I feel less paranoid and more prepared. At least we can know what direction we're walking in."
Bahorel says something quietly, and Courfeyrac turns to ask him to repeat it only to see Bahorel slipping off into the jungle. Turning back to Combeferre, he grins widely, pushing his sea-drenched hair away from his face with one hand and gesturing toward the jungle with the other. "After you?"