and let's join forces; we've got our guns and horses
It's practically cliché, Olive knows, to think or say how quickly time flies by on the island, but she'd be lying if she said it didn't. In the grand scheme of things, three months is not very long at all, but it seems to have gone by in an instant. She has to wonder if the same will be true of the next nine, if she'll soon have passed an entire year in this place and hardly noticed. It's kind of a scary thought.
The last month, for example - in the time it's been going on, it seemed just as long as any other, the days lasting the customary twenty-four hours, give or take, but it's like she looked up and it had disappeared. Maybe it's just because she's been enjoying herself. The last three weeks, on the other hand, have seemed in other ways remarkably slow. She doesn't know how that works, only that it hasn't been that long since Claire got hurt, and while the other girl is up and about, Olive still thinks she ought to be taking it easy. A punctured lung is nothing to laugh about, not least because laughing probably hurts.
She can't bake like Claire does, at least not well enough that trying wouldn't result in her feeling incredibly guilty about wasting island resources, so she swings by the bakery instead, picking up a coffee cake and some scones. Managing to get iced tea out of the Compound and all the way up to the house where Claire lives before it becomes lukewarm tea takes some doing, but Olive is absurdly proud of herself when she makes it to the door, carefully freeing a hand to rap her knuckles against wood. She also feels a little like Little Red Riding Hood, laden like this, but that's beside the point. Eden, when Olive spotted her in the kitchen, mentioned Claire should be here, but that doesn't mean she is. "Claire? You home?"
The last month, for example - in the time it's been going on, it seemed just as long as any other, the days lasting the customary twenty-four hours, give or take, but it's like she looked up and it had disappeared. Maybe it's just because she's been enjoying herself. The last three weeks, on the other hand, have seemed in other ways remarkably slow. She doesn't know how that works, only that it hasn't been that long since Claire got hurt, and while the other girl is up and about, Olive still thinks she ought to be taking it easy. A punctured lung is nothing to laugh about, not least because laughing probably hurts.
She can't bake like Claire does, at least not well enough that trying wouldn't result in her feeling incredibly guilty about wasting island resources, so she swings by the bakery instead, picking up a coffee cake and some scones. Managing to get iced tea out of the Compound and all the way up to the house where Claire lives before it becomes lukewarm tea takes some doing, but Olive is absurdly proud of herself when she makes it to the door, carefully freeing a hand to rap her knuckles against wood. She also feels a little like Little Red Riding Hood, laden like this, but that's beside the point. Eden, when Olive spotted her in the kitchen, mentioned Claire should be here, but that doesn't mean she is. "Claire? You home?"