Sara
Sara’s not quite sure what to say when Rokia suggests they go hiking.
“It’s a nice day,” Rokia says, “We could head up the trails a ways.”
Sara blinks at her. Yes, okay, she is a city girl, as the cowboys in 10 keep reminding her at every opportunity. But so is Rokia, and what the fuck trails, aren’t they way out in the middle of nowhere already?
“Trails,” Sara says, looking at Rokia.
Rokia laughs. “It’s not that weird.”
Sara just keeps staring, and Rokia keeps smirking, and Sara is pretty sure there’s…lions or something out in the mountains but she’s really not going to tell Rokia she’s scared, so finally she sighs. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”
Rokia turns back to the kitchen, snags a backpack off the table, tosses a sweatshirt at Sara’s head. Sara catches it. “It’s not that cold,” she says, skeptically.
“Might be up there, wind’s cold,” Rokia says, shrugging into a jacket and the backpack. Sara reaches for the pack but shuts her mouth when Rokia glares. So she pulls the sweatshirt on and laughs.
“This is Lyme’s, isn’t it?” Sara says, rolling up the sleeves. It’s not quite as absurdly big on her as the stolen sweaters Rokia wears, but it’s big enough to be amusing.
“Mine wouldn’t fit you,” Rokia says, and she’s heading out the door.
The first half hour, Sara wonders why Rokia bothered with extra layers. Rokia walks fast always, and Sara’s grateful for the advantage a couple extra inches gives her in trying to keep up. She’s long since shed the sweatshirt when they get up to a ridge and Rokia stops.
Sara looks out and… “Damn,” she breathes. The Victors Village is nestled into the mountains, so you can see the woods and down to the town and the foothills, but from up here the mountains stretch west in jagged lines all the way to the horizon. Sara’s seen glimpses of snowcapped peaks from the train, but up here they seem close enough to touch. The trail leads out along the ridge, but Rokia’s still stopped, waiting.
“See?” Rokia says, “Told you.”
Sara tries to glare, but it’s probably a lost cause. And just to make it worse a gust of wind makes her shiver, and she unties the sweatshirt from around her waist. “Shut up,” she says, as she pulls it on.
“I didn’t say anything,” Rokia says, all false innocence.
“That’s right,” Sara says, like she’s somehow come out on top, because maybe if she acts like she believes it, Rokia will let it slide.
Rokia smirks, but stays quiet, and Sara contents herself with scowling at the back of Rokia’s head as they head out along the ridge.