Chapter 5
Darkness surrounded Edmund in his entirety. The later stages of Fall meant the leafy forest canopy was thinning, allowing moonlight to trickle down to the forest floor. Even so, to call this light illuminating would be far too generous. At most it highlighted the faintest outline of whatever shape it washed over; tree trunks, larger boulders, bushes, and the like. Once his eyes adjusted to the limited luminosity of his surroundings, Edmund bobbed and weaved through the forest as a brisk, yet safe, pace.
Of course, Killian would have just loved to stop and "question" him if given the chance, but Edmund was having none of it. The voices and flashlights faded into the darkness as he gained distance on the group, indicative of the two teens keeping their end of the bargain. He paused for but a moment to look back and silently thank the two for helping him slip away without trouble. A comfortable distance from other people established once more, Edmund set a casual pace as he made his way back home.
The ridgeline was distinct enough to follow once it got going, but down here where it petered out one could easily get off-track. Edmund checked his compass, briefly risking the use of his flashlight. He was heading in the right direction, as expected, but he was plunged back into the abyssal darkness as he clicked the light off. He stood there silently, allowing his eyes to readjust to the surroundings. As he did so, an all too familiar silence fell over his surroundings, giving the darkness more weight as his utter isolation sank in.
With it having been such a long day, from working the fields to a multi-mile mountain trek, Edmund was reaching the limits of his endurance. That said, he opted to simply carry on home rather than try for a conversation. About the time he was starting to really notice the ground's incline, a soft crack cut through the darkness from somewhere behind him. He paused, taking a moment to run a few scenarios through his mind before engaging. It was mostly debating how jovial or snarky he should be with the initial engagement, but an amused smile spread across his face as he realized how much he was over-thinking it.
"Something I can do for you at such a late hour?" he remarked half-jokingly, his soft tone of voice barely disturbing the quiet. He turned around, expecting a pair of softly illuminated violet orbs to be glaring at him from the darkness, but found none. He barely had time to think before a response was issued. A deep, guttural "HHURRRRRRRRRR-" cut through the silence, alarmingly close if its volume was any indicator.
"GAH-damnit!" He cried out reflexively, jumping so violently he almost dropped the shotgun in his arms. Recovering from the shock, he swiftly turned the flashlight on and held it against the forward grip so as to see where he aimed. Keeping the weapon at the ready, but not yet aiming, he spun around in hopes of identifying the sound's source.
Panning the light around the surrounding trees, he stopped and doubled back to his target. A deer, a buck more specifically, was standing no more than twenty feet from him, stock still in the cone of light. Edmund let the shotgun hang casually as his tension eased.
"Jeeeeez dude, you scared the piss outta' me." Edmund looked up to the leaves above him, glistening in the moonlight. He took a deep breath to help flush the unexpected shock from his system before looking back to the animal. "Gonna' give someone a heart attack, skulking around like that."
His amused grin faded slightly as a realization dawned on him. It wasn't really... doing anything. I mean, sure, one could use the "deer in headlights" excuse on account of the flashlight, but he honestly expected it to scamper off. But no; it didn't run off, it didn't bend down to munch on some grass, it didn't do anything. Instead, it was just standing there staring at him. His expression further soured as, for the first time, he really stopped to take in the details.
It appeared to injured, though perhaps that would be an understatement. Its fur was matted and balding in many places, and it appeared to be emaciated with how tightly its skin clung to its bones. Open sores, blemishes, or even exposed flesh were visible across its body. Most unsettlingly however, was how its neck was twisted abnormally to the side, giving its head a sort of hanging effect. Its mouth hung open slightly, allowing ragged breaths to cycle unimpeded.
Edmund's mind raced, pouring over memories for explanations and reasoning. Recollection of brain parasites and/or flesh-eating viruses came to mind, with the term "Chronic Withering Disease," or something to that affect, coming to the forefront of his thoughts. That said, he wasn't terribly keen on goofing around with a sick deer and getting infected with who-knows-what, especially this close to winter.
He cautiously jabbed the firearm in the deer's direction. "Shoo."
No response, not that he expected any. "Look man, it's been a long day. Just, I dunno, wander off that way? You come any closer through and I'll give you some 12-gague medicine." There was a pregnant pause as the two continued staring at each-other in silence. "That's sarcasm, for the record. I mean I'll shoot you. So, you know...?" He punctuated the point by nodding his head to the side, indicating it should move along.
A moment of utter silence passed, interrupted by the animal making another guttural groan. The unexpected swiftness caught Edmund off guard as it whipped its head around, colliding into a tree it stood next to. With a loud CRACK one of its antlers broke off and tumbled into the darkness. The animal stood there a moment more, turning its gaze back to Edmund who was now, understandably, aiming his weapon at it. Its gaze lingered a moment longer before turning and shuffling off into the darkness almost nonchalantly.
Edmund kept his weapon aimed on the animal until it was beyond the flashlight's range, but even then he kept it at the ready. He stood there, the deathly silence still hanging in the air, as he processed the encounter. Well, that and he was letting it get further away before continuing. Eventually he closed his eyes, shaking his head clear of befuddlement in order to get back to the journey home.
"See, this is exactly why I don't go wandering around at night," he continued, softly speaking to no one in particular as he got back to walking. "That's the sort of thing that starts all these skin-walker, wendigo, cryptid myths. Some podunk pilgrim or indian see something like that and of course they're gonna' think it some kind of devil or critter wearing an Edgar suit. 'Course we know better nowadays, with our scientifically refined research and analysis. Nothing but naturally occurring sickness causes stuff like that. And that's not even getting into the potential for alien causation."
"Ah, yes. Perfectly normal encounter. Totally not some evil entity that wants to eat your skin. Never mind the hundreds of people that go—or rather went—missing in the Appalachians on a yearly basis."
"Oh shut up. Just let me talk myself down from that adrenaline rush, would you?"
"Yes, yes, I know. Still, you can't help but wonder..."
"Ah-! Stop it! Why are you trying to freak me out, you're supposed to be the logical one."
"Doesn't mean I can't have a sense of humor."
"Yeah well, knock it off, would you? You're not helping."
"Aren't I though? Are you not so focused on busting my chops that you're no longer thinking about that freaky deer?"
Edmund paused the conversation, contemplating the argument. He pursed his lips and nodded his head to the side, silently conceding the point. His mind now relatively settled, he noted the skin-crawlingly unnatural silence was still persisting. With a heavy sigh, he reacquired his heading and turned the flashlight back off. As much as he wanted another meeting, this really wasn't an ideal time for it; and he hoped the shadowy viper understood as much.
Fortunately, the rest of the journey home was uneventful. The hushed atmosphere lingered for the entire duration, disturbed only by his own footfalls. Edmund would occasionally switch on his light to check for landmarks and the like, but felt more comfortable in the moonlit darkness. Eventually he stumbled upon his homestead, relief washing over him followed swiftly by a wave of exhaustion.
Depositing his gear and guns by the door, he B-lined it for the couch. He was rank from all the humidity and exertion, and was not at all eager to get that stank in his bed. All these clothes were already going to need a wash, and he wasn't too keen on adding the covers to the workload. That in mind, days like today would be spent on the old leather couch, worn as it was from decades of use. With a weary sigh he splayed himself across the antiquated furniture; his knees hooked over one armrest as his head lay flat on the seat, pushed up against the other. Cut his legs off entirely and he would fit like a glove.
Despite the impromptu resting place, he swiftly felt his mind begin to swirl and fade as tiredness overcame him. Right as he was about to submit to sleep's sweet embrace, his attention was grabbed by what sounded like soft tapping. He focused his senses to analyze its origin, but was met with more silence. Dismissing it as the beginnings of a dream, he once again let himself start drifting off to sleep.
But then, just as he was reaching the brink; the tapping sound disturbed him again, rattling in his ear. His eyes opened blearily, silently staring at the ceiling as he waited for the next round of taps. He had an idea what it—or rather, she—wanted, but exhausted as he was he really didn't have the energy for it. He lay there, time slipping away unnoticed, waiting. Interruptions were irksome, sure, but expecting an interruption and anticipating its arrival bothered him so much more. Hopefully she would get the memo...
More tapping. Now focusing on it, it sounded like it was from the window next to the electronics. The curtains were closed, last he checked, so he wouldn't see the culprit even if he went to the effort to turn around. He let out a long, intentionally audible sigh before rubbing his temples. A faint voice crept from the closed window, so faint he barely registered it.
" . . . "
Its sound was unnervingly soft, almost like it wasn't sound at all. It seemed... oddly familiar, yet he couldn't quite put a finger on it. His befuddlement was onset by his bleary mind, making him wonder if he'd heard anything at all. After another drawn out pause, he opted to issue his response.
"Look, I appreciate your help today. Truly, I do," he stated bluntly, not trying to hide his exhaustion. "But I am absolutely sozzled right now. Can we pick this up tomorrow? I can read all you want, alright?"
Silence hung in the room once more. Despite his best efforts he felt himself drifting off again, but was predictably startled back from the brink by more tapping and another ghostly utterance of his name.
"Talkative tonight, aren't we," he muttered more to himself than anyone. With a grunt and a couple pops in his shoulder blades, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll read you some more. Just don't be surprised if I phase out on you."
Edmund stood, gingerly making his way through the dark house to his bedroom. Turning on the reading lamp gave him all the light he needed, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust. He opened the curtain and raised the window, not giving it a second thought as he turned to fetch the night's reading material from the dresser. His Bible was right where he left it, grabbing it and plopping himself into the old recliner as he began flipping through it to the bookmark.
With the viper's exponential increase in visits, he had finished the Lord of the Rings a couple months ago. Afterwards, he'd opted to shuffle through portions of the Bible. Not since before the invasion had he properly sat down and read from it. Even so, and despite the change in reading material, the alien had not relented in attending the reading sessions. Tonight's apparent enthusiasm only further reinforced this point, so saw no reason to think she minded the theological subject.
"Almost there, be patient..." he murmured, flipping to the bookmark. The thin, delicate pages fluttered as he handled them with the care and respect he felt they warranted. After another faint utterance of his name from the dark window, he finally found the marked spot and settled the book in his lap. "There we are, the Book of Mark. Lest ye need reminding, we've started into the New Testament."
A sharp breath that could have been either a hiss or a sigh—it was hard to tell—floated in from the window. He replied with a weak grin. "Yes, yes; of course you remember. That's your job, after all. Let's backpedal a bit and start at Mark's fifth chapter..."
Edmund began dutifully reading out the text, though perhaps not with his usual vigor. This particular portion of scripture was the recounting of Jesus' encounter with the demon host known as Legion. He read out as the man, possessed by the multitude, ran to Christ and fell to his knees as the demons begged for mercy. As Edmund got to the verses where Jesus cast the Legion host into the herd of pigs, another sound from the window gave him pause.
This time more distinctly a hiss, the sound started off faint but quickly rose in volume. Frankly, it reminded him of an angry cat's hiss. It cut off abruptly as he could hear shuffling in the grass. He remained silent, curiosity and confusion dictating that he should wait to see what happens next. The wait was short, as soon the sounds of crickets, owls, and other nocturnal critters became steadily apparent.
"That's it? W-we just barely started," Edmund lamented, almost sounding offended. "I mean you got me up, you wanted this, right...?"
The clear night air, unburdened by otherworldly presence, persisted. He stared into the darkness for a moment more, confounded at the unexpected change. Eventually, however, his brain remembered how utterly tired it was. With a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, he put his Bible away and closed the window back up. If the Viper had been around to hear Edmund's idle mumbling it might have been cross with him; but then, he felt like his sleep-deprived frustration was at least a little bit warranted.
With everything wrapped up—again—Edmund flopped horizontal onto the couch. There was no tapping or whispering to keep him from sleep this time, though it likely wouldn't have stopped him by this point anyway. His mind faded into the sweet oblivion of sleep, and the day was finally done.
He didn't know what time it was. Heck, he didn't even really know where he was. His mind was lost in some subliminal space between asleep and awake, his thoughts and dreams mixing together in a muddled mess of consciousness. It was madness and normalcy, interlaced with each other simultaneously. A movement in the dream transitioned into reality, his body rolling over into a freefall. The sudden, mildly painful jolt to Edmund's system as he hit the floor woke him up right quick.
He rolled over on his back, intentionally this time, and lay there as he collected his thoughts. It was daytime, and late enough for the light to illuminate the living room even through the thick curtains. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, realizing that he'd probably lost most of the day by now. Oh well; he could use what was left for mild chores and maybe a bit of fun. Regardless; tomorrow would have to be right back to harvesting, lest he risk losing his crops to the coming winter.
Using the couch for support, he slowly raised himself from the floor. His body protested dearly, joins popping and muscles groaning from uncomfortable sleeping positions. After a moment to make sure he was steady on his feet, he set to work compiling a to-do list. The soggy clothes from yesterday needed a good wash; that much was obvious from the smell. He could probably benefit from a bath as well, so the spring was his destination. But what else to do while there...
He lumbered over to the door opposite the computer desks, opening it to what was originally supposed to be the master bathroom. The room had been barren upon the building's acquisition, so Edmund had repurposed it for food storage, cooking, and the occasional emergency bathroom stop. He knew better than to crap where he ate, that's why he'd built the outhouse, but it's good to have an option that doesn't involve leaving the house in the middle of the night or in hellish weather. To that end, he gave a side-eye glance to the sealable 5-gallon bucket next to the door, covered in goofily written words like "stinky!" and "poop ;)" as well as the toilet seat leaning against it.
The rest of the room was well kempt and organized, at least as best as he was able. The far wall was nearly obscured by two different piles. One pile was fraught with sacks of raw produce, itself divided into three sub-categories of corn, potatoes, and carrots. The other pile was more organized, consisting of well over a dozen sealable 5-gallon buckets similar to the one by the door. Each had a label written or carved into it, ranging from "cooking," "drinking," "washing," and so forth. Next to the pile, yet distinctly separate, were a couple tubs with their lids ajar, indicating they were empty.
After taking a moment to bring the empty buckets to the front door so as to not forget them, Edmund returned to the room. The inner wall to his left was largely occupied by a long bathroom cabinet, though perhaps now it could be called a kitchen cabinet. A permanently plugged sink for washing and a portable electric cooking eye were the most notable features atop the cabinet surface. Various pots and pans sat stored behind cabinet doors, including his family's almost two-century old cast-iron skillet that he'd managed to save. He swore that skillet's imbued flavor was the only thing that put some oomph into his otherwise bland meals.
A simple meal would suffice for now, so he brought out a gallon pot and tossed in a couple potatoes to boil while he continued prepping for the trip. With the day already half over, he wouldn't have time for much more than his planned venture. Stepping outside, the air was notably less humid and beginning to cool. Last night's clouds had rolled in, and now cast a neutral grey blanket across the sky. He took a deep breath, appreciating his surroundings and the litany of birdsong from the nests surrounding his home. Guess he was alone, if only for now...
Choosing not to waste time, he began prepping his trusty red wagon. Stuffing the dirty clothes in one of the empty water buckets for the sake of efficiency, he then tied the buckets loosely to the wagon. The trip down wasn't of much concern, but they would need to be much more secure once they were heavy with their payload. He also prepared the duffle bag with a set of clean clothes, a towel, and a bar of soap; tossing it atop the buckets once full. With the wagon sufficiently prepped, he returned inside for his meal and a final go-over of his mental list.
"Monty's still good," he mused, taking a hearty bite of potato. "Refill water, wash clothes, wash me, anything else...?" His mind wandered slightly, pondering the day and night prior. An idea struck him as he did so, finishing his potato before walking to the desk and grabbing a few things to put in his travel backpack.
With no additional tasks coming to mind, and the day not getting any younger, he made final preparations for departure. A quick stop by the outhouse before gathering his backpack and choice of firearm—the rifle, today—and he set off. The path was as familiar as it had been the day prior, and the forest sounds made for pleasant ambiance during the venture. The implication was not lost on him, though he didn't let himself fret over it. Hopefully his little idea would help clear things up; that is, at least, if he was given the opportunity to try it.
As he wandered, so did him mind; mostly continuing his rumination on yesterday's events. It had certainly been one of the more... unique days he'd had in a while. This shadowy viper certainly seemed to be getting more bold, what with all the tapping and whispering and getting involved with the neighbors. Sure, it wasn't the first time he'd heard it tapping on his windows at night or whispering his name from the dark corners of the forest, but she certainly didn't seem to be shying away from it anymore. Then again, by this point he had all but invited such interactions between them, so he really shouldn't be surprised.
Though he still wondered about the camp's kids. Had they gotten lost by happenstance, or was it a deliberate act on her part? And if so, to what end? He asked himself a lot of questions, but staunchly refrained from jumping to any conclusions. He simply didn't have enough information at the current point in time to make logical assumptions on the matter. His musings continued as he followed the path to the creek, then up to the spring. Such brainstorming certainly never ceased to help pass the time.
Following the burbling brook's edge led to a large pond nestled against a cliff. Said cliff was likely thirty feet high, by Edmund's best guess. It wasn't a sheer cliff, not entirely; it was a steep, rocky incline until the last dozen feet where the mountainside became a sheer drop into the water below. The spring itself originated deeper in the mountain, with the pool being formed by erosion eating away at the mountainside over millennia. This was further evidenced by a large slab of rock sticking out of the water near the cliff that had broken off about a decade ago.
The pool itself was wide—he guessed roughly fifty feet in diameter—and glassy-smooth, disturbed only by the mouth of the creek it drained into. Edmund knew the deepest parts of the pond were closer to the cliff and the water's actual source, and that it never got deeper than four feet. Surrounding the pond was a grassy bank, which had a few feet of space between the water's edge and the tree line. The grass was thick, but it and much of the tree line were free from the usual bristly brush overgrowth that usually clogged areas such as these. Edmund wanted to keep his favorite watering hole well kempt, after all.
Taking a moment to admire the beauty of the humble location, as he always did, he noted the continued woodland ambience. He was alone for now, but who knew when that might change. This in mind, he set to work at a comfortable pace. Hanging a clothesline between a pair of branches was easy enough, and the dirty clothes were dumped from the buckets so they could be refilled. The frigid water gave him a moment's pause as his bare feet acclimated to the cold. It didn't matter if his clothes got wet; they'd be getting washed soon anyway.
Once the cold water ceased to be bothersome, he made his way to the deepest part of the pond, nearest to the water's source where it was the most clean. The feeling of cold mud between his toes was invigorating, and brought back nostalgic memories of his youth. Simpler days of getting filthy playing in creeks and lakeshores. Hopefully he would have the time to relax after he was done with his chores...
Filling the two buckets was easy enough, but as he returned to shore he began to regret the decision to fill them at the same time. Five gallons of water in each hand made joints groan and muscles ache. He was able to get back to the wagon without incident, but it served as the latest reminder of his age. How much longer would he be able to remain self sufficient in his isolation, he wondered...
As swiftly as the worry crossed his mind, it was dismissed with equal swiftness. It was going to be a fun day, and he wouldn't let himself ruin the vibes. Moving on to the next task, he set about cleaning the myriad of grungy clothes; doing so firmly, yet gently so as to not tear the aging fabrics. He took careful note of the forest ambience, notably that it was still present, before washing the clothes he wore and adding them to the clothesline with the others.
Content that he was he was alone, he returned to the deeper parts of the spring where the water was coldest. The spring water, chilled from the sunless depths of stone, eased the tension in his muscles as he bathed himself. Many might have been put off by the frigid temperature, be he'd always had a greater appreciation of the cold. His mind began to tune out his surroundings as he became engrossed in deep, reflective thoughts.
This had been the only proper bath he'd had since the medical checkup. Much to his chagrin, the memory brought with it lingering tension and anxiety. Maxine's breach of privacy still bothered him, the residual guilt still gnawing at the back of his mind. Guilt over his body, and what she must have thought of him upon her intrusion. It was a foolish, unnecessary feeling, he knew, but it still plagued him. His bathing slowed as he focused more on struggling against his self-imposed anxiety.
He wasn't fat, not like people had been before the invasion. A foot taller than most folks and broader shoulders to boot; it's not like he had much choice in being "bigger" than people. The years living off his own sweat and blood left him no less large, albeit with a better balance of muscle and fat. It occurred to him that before the war he might have been described as having a "dad-bod." The thought elicited a chuckle, giving way to more reassuring thoughts that helped put his mind at ease.
Further shifting his mind away from such self-conscious tripe, he turned to more fun, nostalgic memories from before the invasion. Funny bits of pop-culture from his days in high school. Old Garry's Mod videos, memes, and YouTube parodies. The golden age of the late 2000's internet zeitgeist before the world as he knew it ended. He allowed himself to become lost in the moment as the memories replayed in his mind's eye, splashing and thrashing in the cold water.
If anyone had been there to witness such a thing, they likely would have thought him to be stark raving mad. But then, he didn't care. He was alone and free. Free to be himself. Free from the judgment of others. He was a free man, who had no need to feel guilty about the opinions of others. He was as God had made him, and he was thankful. A few hours passed as he reveled in whatever madness came to mind, though he couldn't be bothered to keep track of the time.
Inevitably his energy began to wane; winding himself down until he found himself floating in the "deep" end of the pool, enjoying the utter silence of his surroundings. His mind drifted to the viper as he returned to the here and now. Notably, what he should do about her. If she was as sensible as he wanted to believe, it wouldn't do to simply call her "the viper." Nobody in their right mind would want to be called "the human," after all. But then, what to call her? He didn't want to be so bold as to arbitrarily select a name for her, but to continue without a name seemed equally rude.
His mind wandered, searching for what he might call her. Something funny, like Monty the Python? No, too improper. Something bog-standard, like Vicky the Viper? No no, too dull. How about a reference, perhaps to something else reptilian? His mind lingered on the idea, trying to find something that felt like it fit. A hint of movement caught his eye beneath the water. A red salamander swam across the lakebed, likely fleeing from his movement.
He loved salamanders, more than anything. Maybe something referencing salamanders? Sally? Mander? No, that didn't really click. Maybe something salamander adjacent, like an Axolotl? Nah. How about a newt? Newt... hey, that could work. A fun little word that was pleasing to say, and even had a classic reference associated with it. That is, of course, only if the viper was alright with the nickname. But speaking of her, it dawned on him just how silent the little oasis had become...
He stopped floating, submerging himself conspiratorially while panning his eyes over the half-circle tree line surrounding the spring. She was out there somewhere, watching. Had she been creeping on him, watching as he bathed and played?
'Nonsense; she's always observing. It's simply what she does. How many times have we been observed bathing over the years, you think? And now it suddenly bothers us?'
'Yeah, well, it's not the same, now that we know more about her. Easier to dismiss being watched when you can brush it off as some mindless animal.'
'A fair point; but don't you start feeling all self conscious again. I highly doubt she's going to hold us to the same societal norms as a human would. Even then if she did, screw 'em. You have no good reason to feel bad about yourself.'
'I know...'
His internal discussion continued as he lurked there, nearly submerged. Noting the sun lowering in the sky and how his muscles tired from his enthusiastic goofing off, he eventually reached consensus. Propping himself on his knees, he rose out of the water to about his chest.
"Hey," he called out, cupping his hands around the corners of his mouth, "I know you're out there. For the sake of common decency, you mind tossing me my towel?" His voice echoed around for a bit, bouncing off the water and cliff behind him. Silence fell back over the oasis as the echo faded, swallowed by the unnerving sound of nothing.
"Please?"
The moments passed as he was met with more silence. He had about resigned himself to awkwardly shuffle ashore before he received his response. A stick splashed into the water near him, though far enough away that he doubted it was intended to hit him. He turned in the direction it had come from and scanned the trees, not entirely sure what to expect. Soon enough—almost sooner than he had expected—his towel flew out from the trees, tied into a ball so as to effectively travel the distance. Edmund instinctively threw his hands up to catch it, snatching it out of the air.
Frankly, he was shocked that had actually worked. Still, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you!" he called out again, surprise apparent in his voice. He wrapped himself as he stood fully from the pond, heading for shore. It was a simple task to dry himself and put on the clean clothes, but his anxiety-riddled self consciousness was still trying to creep its way back into his mind. He was having none of it, however, and decided to attempt his earlier idea before concluding his business at the spring.
Reaching into his backpack, he withdrew an old notepad bound by a thin metal coil, and a sharpened wooden pencil. "I'd like to have a word, if you're willing to listen," he remarked, allowing a brief pause for her to direct her attention.
"If you don't want to talk, that's fine. I get it, believe me. However, I feel that yesterday highlighted a woeful lack of quality communication. If we're going to continue with this... whatever you want to call it, then we need to establish a more efficient form of communication than throwing sticks and intense staring. To that end, I've had an idea." He held the notepad up, hoping she'd get the memo. "I'm gonna' leave this here for you, so you can write down anything you might want to say. You have fingers, I trust you can write; so you can just jot down a note if a situation calls for it. If you want, of course. Not telling you what to do." He punctuated the sentiment with a shrug.
He was met with no response, so after a minute he decided to set it on a rock by the edge of the tree line. The choice was hers, so he would leave it there for her to take or ignore at her own digression. Before he set it down, however, he took the pencil and wrote "Property of Newt" on the inside of the cover, punctuating the sentiment with a little smiley face. He closed the notepad and stuck the pencil in the metal coil, grinning dumbly to himself as he set it down.
With his idea concluded, he set about wrapping up his little outing. He sealed the water buckets up and tied them down, placing the pile of still damp clothes atop them. The clothes line would be set back up at home, where he would use his old space heater to dry them out more efficiently. Soon enough everything was secured and ready for the trek back home, and Edmund felt inclined to glance back to where he had left the notepad. A positive mix of emotions swirled in his gut as he noticed its absence.
"We get home, and I'll read whatever you want, as long as you want." He stated matter-of-factly. His previous anxieties now forgotten, he enthusiastically set off for home.