Day 28, Spirit Caravan part 5: Which way? The boys are asking this question a lot.

Swears because Frye.

All the good things belong to MonolithSoft.

"Which door?" Frye asked. This floor, whichever floor they were on, was dank and soft with something that felt less like moss and more like pelts. The glow stick wasn't throwing enough light to examine it, but they were close enough to running out that they weren't cracking new ones merely to investigate unpleasantness. The doors were clear enough, five this time, not a record but more than average. Usually there was only one, and even then it seemed like a difficult choice.

"Why bother asking?"

Frye rounded on H.B. "You're Mr. Pathfinder, so find me a fucking path!"

H.B.'s voice was icy. "You think it matters?"

Frye opened and closed his mouth a few times, then twisted his neck to relax. "Okay. Break time."

"I'm not sitting down on this floor," H.B. said, following Frye towards a patch of dank wall.

"I figure we can lean for a second," Frey said. He sagged against the bronze paneling and slid to squat on his booted heels. "I just gotta catch my breath or something."

H.B. hunkered down, poised on his own toes, and stared at Frye. "We're lost," he finally admitted. "I'm lost. You should choose the next door."

"No way," Frye shot back. "You know me. Every decision I make will be the wrong one. Show me two doors and the one I choose will be straight into a hell. Every time. That or it'll be a dive bar, but that's a different kind of wrong choice." He shook his head, his eyes bleary with tiredness. "You gotta do the job."

"I can't. I'm ... failing." H.B. touched the floor briefly before clenching his hand in disgust. "Even my best decisions are leading us nowhere."

"I'd rather bet on you, though," Frye said.

"Fine bet, on paper," H.B. said, letting his thoughts spin wider. "Work hard, get into the best school, work harder, better school, work harder still, best track, even better, once in a lifetime opportunity. Didn't save anyone, did I?"

"Hey, that's not our fault."

"Do you know how many people, great people, are forgotten? I'm not just talking about what the Ganglion did. Do you know the name of every leader of every country on Earth?"

"I know the gal in Kenya," said Frye. "Dated someone that was a huge fan."

"Do you remember every country?" H.B. continued. "Entire countries, and you don't remember them, not anyone who lived there, who ever lived there. So my personal conceit about my own worth is beyond laughable, at a cosmic level."

Frye seemed to be puzzling over something, possibly trying to remember more countries than the U.S. and Kenya and probably Iceland. "You don't think your actions matter," he said slowly.

"I do not matter," H.B. agreed.

"That's you glitching," Frye said. "Like me..."

"...not trusting your decisions," H.B. said with dawning understanding. "Why didn't I see that?"

"The view from here is clearer. I regularly look like a mess. It's weird when you do it for no reason."

"I can't decide," H.B. said, "but you trust me. I can lean on that. And you don't have to decide, you just have to act. I believe in that."

"If you think so," Frye said. He didn't sound convinced.

"I am sure of it. Look. I don't know which way is out, but I can choose a heading and keep to it. If you pound your way through enough times, we might..." H.B. stood up and corrected himself. "You pound it enough times, same direction, we will wear this thing down."

Frey got to his feet. "Okay. Which way, Pathforker?"

"That way," said H.B., pointing to the wall behind Frye.

a/n: 3 2 1 let's go.

Next up: And then they have candy (or I'll actually write something, if I'm not a coward).