As Su Wanyan and her little family slept in their home, Qin Yuran and Song Meiyu were still walking Leilei home.
The sky had finished its long descent from gold and muted orange into a deeper bluish purple. Village paths narrowed and widened without a pattern visitors could memorize on a first pass. A few windows held squares of warm light. However, most did not.
Song Meiyu wiped sweat from her forehead when she believed neither of the others was looking. The day's length had finally collected in her calves, the arches of her feet, and the back of her neck. How long have we been walking? She questioned inwardly. But the question had no useful answer. Time had stopped behaving like something that could be counted in minutes and had become only distance.
