(no subject)

At some point, she stops at a tree with large roots that wrap around its trunk and spider across the soil. Abigail doesn't know how long she's been walking. Time doesn't feel the way she knows it did once before. The thing she thinks of as the sun, can be midway in the sky and then at dusk when she blinks. Though there's always been light through the leaves above her, Abigail has a certain feeling that days have passed while she's been walking.

It's cold. She should be colder in her small brown jacked and red scarf. Abigail crouches by the tree, and then slips between the roots. The space isn't big enough to fall through, but enough for her to lean back against the trunk, cradled in the roots along the tree.