Regina struggled to walk alongside Emma, who was patiently hanging back to allow Regina to keep up. With each step, Regina's leg seared with pain. She wondered about how she had been able to run without feeling her wound tear back open. It must have been the adrenaline.

"You can put your weight on me," Emma said as Regina grimaced and hobbled. Regina blushed. It was embarrassing that Emma did everything so effortlessly, and yet Regina struggled even to walk by herself.

"It's fine," Regina said flatly, "Thanks."

Since Regina's rescue from the town jail, Emma had crowed multiple times and reminded Regina what a terrible thief she was, and Regina was growing nervous. Now, she really had nothing to offer the Merry Men in return for sharing their camp. And whether they decided to kick her out because of it or not, Regina was ashamed, and she would be even more ashamed to stay with them as a helpless vagrant.

It was hard not to cry. She wanted to cry because she was tired, because her muscles ached, because her knee burned and throbbed with pain like she had never felt before. She wanted to cry because she felt humiliated and stupid, but she kept the tears at bay though a sob felt stuck in her throat. After all the embarrassment of the day, she would NOT top it all off with allowing Emma to see her red-faced and teary.

. . .

Emma sauntered along easily, watching Wilma limp. The girl had a pride like Emma had never seen before and refused any help though she was gasping for air. Emma knew the wound must be causing excruciating pain, as Wilma had been running on it with her full weight before it had even begun to heal properly. Yet, Wilma held her head high in a way that both impressed and amused Emma.

Emma kept her eyes open for something to ease the other girl's struggle, and soon enough, they came upon a fallen branch that looked strong enough for Wilma to lean on. She picked it up off the forest floor and broke away the stems and sticks.

"Here," she said, handing the branch to Wilma, "A cane."

Wilma accepted the branch thanklessly and nestled her arm between two wooden lims that were in the shape of a "y," treating the branch like a crutch. Emma noticed that Wilma was being very quiet, and assumed that the younger girl was probably in a terrible mood. She racked her mind for something to say.

"You know," Emma began, "If it makes you feel any better. Little John once tripped over his own feet and landed himself in a ravine. Once we got him out of prison, the camp wouldn't let him get over it. They still talk about it sometimes."

"Oh," Wilma stated in between labored breaths.

Emma rolled her eyes at herself for being so boring, but she couldn't think of anything that would make Wilma laugh.

"And one time," Emma started again, "He was running away from the guards and took all of his clothes off and jumped into the river because he thought it would scare them off. But they just arrested him stark naked. That's actually how we met, in prison after he was caught. But of course, he had clothes on by then… "

Emma trailed off and Wilma looked up, intrigued. Emma was glad to have won the other girl's attention. "Well," Emma said, her voice dropped almost to a whisper, "I shouldn't have told you that one. Don't tell anyone."

Wilma smirked. Emma smiled. "My lips are sealed," Wilma said. She grimaced. "My leg is killing me."

"Oh!" Emma said jokingly, "I thought we were pretending you were fine."

Wilma raised her eyebrows at Emma and opened her mouth to protest, but Emma was quick to cut her off.

"Your knee looked so bad last night that I think you may have ruined it forever, running on it like that."

Wilma's abandoned words dissolved in a huff and she looked worried. For a moment, Emma felt bad for picking on Wilma so much. But she was an easy target and Emma liked to observe Wilma's reactions. She liked the way her eyebrows furrowed and her lips twisted into a smirk or a frown. She loved Wilma's embarrassed flush and the way she stumbled through her sentences when Emma had caught her off guard. But her favorite look so far was the irritated glare Wilma would throw her way every once in a while.

"You're very interesting to me," Emma said, "I find myself wanting to get as much information from you as possible."

"I'm not very interesting," Wilma replied, "I've already told you all there is to know about me."

They came to a divet in the forest floor and Emma helped Wilma over it. "I don't think so," Emma said, "What is your family like?"

Wilma heaved a sigh that sounded like the beginning of a long story. "My father is very kind. My mother is insufferable. We aren't close."

"Ever been married?"

Wilma shook her head vigorously.

"Ever taken a lover?"

Wilma flushed and stumbled a bit. She looked at Emma precariously. It was several moments before she answered.

"Well. I mean. Well, yes. I had a boyfriend. A fiance."

Emma gasped ecstatically. "The drama! The intrigue. I knew you were interesting, Wilma-from-the-mills. I'm assuming he was a jackass, then."

"He's dead," Wilma stated bluntly.

Blood rushed to Emma's cheeks. She felt as though she had blundered. For once, she was the one taken off guard.

"Oh. OH. Wilma I'm sorry. I was just kidding. I didn't know. That's terrible. I'm sorry. I didn't-"

She stopped talking when she realized that Wilma was smirking. She was making fun of her.

"Jackass." Wilma said.

. . .

Emma learned a lot about Wilma on the journey back to camp. She learned that there really was a dead fiance who died in a wool factory fire. She learned that her favorite color was emerald green, that her favorite breakfast food was black pudding (which Emma thought was atrocious), and that she didn't like to be pestered with questions. And though Wilma answered every one of Emma's intrusive questions willingly, Emma couldn't help but feel like she had barely cracked the tip of the iceberg. She knew Wilma was hiding something. She always thought intensely before saying anything and Emma was sure that Wilma was pausing to decide which information to leave out of her stories.

She told Wilma a lot about herself too, but Emma was much more detailed and elaborate in the stories that she recited. She used big hand gestures and loud sound effects and did character voices for Little John and the other bandmates. She was excited to have someone to share her many adventures with.

When they finally made it back to the campsite, Wilma went straight over to her pile of belongings and hoisted them over her shoulder.

"Where could you possibly be going, now?" Emma asked.

Wilma paused. "Menrora."

"Right now? On your own?"

"Well, I'm not going to burden you. I can't steal, or cook, or m-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Emma interrupted. She felt annoyed, almost betrayed after everything they had been through together that day. "I'll find something for you to do. Or not, with your leg-"

"My leg is fine. I'm not interested in being seen as a helpless-"

Emma interrupted again. "If you go off into the middle of the forest tonight on that busted knee you will be dead before morning. We aren't the type of people to leave someone to die just because they can't contribute. That would be evil."

Emma spoke assertively and easily pried Regina's belongings away. She put them back on the ground where they had been before.

"If you want to leave so badly you'll have to wait until you at least aren't a cripple. If you didn't want to stay I could have left you in Nottingham so you'd at least have a chance to survive."

Emma could tell that Wilma wanted to argue, but also looked like she was tired enough to collapse at any moment.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow," Emma said decisively, "Get some sleep. Don't do anything stupid."