It was the fall again, the second year of displacement.
Two bodies passed on a rainy, wooded path - the wet mashing of leaves beneath them.
The sounds seemed muffled, though still audible amidst the platting of drops against the darkening floor.
The sun could barely be seen above the trees and yet the light was so beautiful despite the clouds.
As they passed, their steps slowed and the travelers exchanged knowing looks - for they were the only two braving the afternoon in the woods.
"Do you know the way?" the first asked.
"I do not," the other replied.
In the pause, the wind picked up, rustling and kicking up tiny sounds in the trees.
"I do know one thing," the second started, the wind winding its way around her hair.
"Truth," the first answered. "Today is not a freeway day," he said.
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