Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.

[xylophonefairy†]

Neill pouted at her insult of his story and plan, not entirely sure which one she was referring to. If a five year old could write a story as good as that, Neill wanted to meet that kid, they would be a future Shakespeare or Austen or Rowling. Taking the unfolded paper back, he watched the progression of their plan from "we need a plan" to something that he, at least, was actually going to do. And yes, it probably wouldn't work, and was only the beginnings at best, but it was something. Reading through the three different handwritings, the three different trains of thought that weaved themselves in between his French vineyard, he noted that most of the ideas had been his, Bobby and Rachel only critiquing them, and not even adding to his story.

It was most frustrating.

Still, he couldn't help but join in Rachel's concerns as to Bobby's whereabouts. It had been a good few minutes now since the boy had vanished into the woodland, and there was no sign of him returning. There was literally no sign of him at all. In a normal forest, he wouldn't have been too concerned, but this was the forest where Liz Polanski had done something to her collar and they whole place had been shut down for days. People died here. Lots of them. Not so many people died in the forests back in Minnesota, as least not in such dense quantities. As Rachel started to collect her things together, Neill followed suit, though he hadn't spread himself out much. The plan he tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, the pen he dropped into the main section of his bag where it immediately disappeared and Neill doubted he would ever see it again. He picked up his bag and also Bobby's, the two weighing him down on either side. He felt like a pack horse as he started to follow Rachel in the direction that she reckoned Bobby had gone in.

"Aah, slow down!" Neill said, trying to pick up his pace as she marched off. He felt decidedly unsteady with the two bags, even if, overall, he was better balanced than usual. He waddled as fast as he could, keeping slightly behind Rachel; he still wasn't entirely sure if he could trust her.

((Neill Robertson continued in Bloodgarden))