People get scared about never coming back. About everything that they can't quite see between the auburn leaves. About that which that is waiting to take them, from their loved ones, from their lives, from their safety net and to never return them. My palms were being scratched but it wasn't the same. I knew it and she knew it and the sun knew it because it was beating down in a way in which it hadn't in days, weeks. An indicator, a message. 'Something is different, look out!'. Thanks sun, I knew anyway, but thanks. People get scared about never coming back. About what is next on the trail. I wished we could never return, the wild isn't so bad. I feigned being scared but, in honesty, I would enjoy my bones caked in the mud if they were tangled in yours. Truely, it is coming back that is the hard part, being lost with you is easy.