The caravan doesn't ride at a hurried pace, but there's no reason to try. We're not able to rush, laden down as these wagons are with people and supplies, and so trying to urge the horses at all will tire them out excessively with no purpose.
Still, I don't feel too bad about it. Valentine's reports have so far shown to be right, so there's no sense of guilt and worrying about what horrible thing is unfolding ahead of us, out of our reach.
For once.
I'm glad.
Not just for the sake of those suffering, or even for May's innocent eyes and stress. Every time Celeste strains herself healing up the masses of the injured, I worry again that I'll see her collapsed, caught in a coma that this world just doesn't have a solution for.
I shiver slightly, pushing those thoughts aside.
That danger, at least, has passed for now. Fortunately.
