I shiver. A cold wind laughs evilly, and makes me more cold. My legs and feet are killing me. We've been walking all night, and finally we've stopped beside the river. It rushes down in quick foams of white. I stare at it. Did I say how much I hate water? Usually I would moan right about now about being hungry, dying of starvation, or being tired. In-fact I've drifted off a few times leaning against the cold bark of the tree, but the cold wind always wakes me up. Each time I open my eyes I see the same thing, Clay sat with Flynn in his arms. Apart from the rushing river and the gasps which echoes from Flynn's lips we were all silent. No one can seem to find any words to fill the awkward air. I rub my hands through my tangled hair and struggle to keep my eyes open. I'm starving as well, it'
