She's terrible with directions. It's something she'd never cared to correct — never had to because of Xander who, as a soldier, had to learn the skill the hard way and had given up on her almost from the get-go. It's only worse after the war, where all but the most familiar of things – and even those at times – have been destroyed down to their foundations; where winding alleyways have become mazes and traps and scattered, scrapped forests rather than cities or towns. She plants a mark on her pipboy and gets lost going straight but her thoughts chant Shaun Shaun Shaunwith every second counted in her head, every pulse of her sore aching feet. She learns, instead, to keep track of time rather than directions, and hopes that by the end she won't lose sight of what she used to be.