All welcome. They're just a bit north of Amherst. Italics = Ren.
“Ho freddo,” the male complained. Lucia shot a glare over her shoulder to where the male followed a few steps behind. He responded to the glare with a teasing grin, pulling the old wool cloak he wore closer. “È stata la tua brillante idea di venire qui,” she growled as she returned her gaze forward. The reminder would be futile, of course. Ren’s preferred method of distracting himself from the cold climate seemed to be riling her up, which he was infuriatingly good at.
His teasing games were beginning to wear her nerves thin, however. The Marino girl did not want to be here. She hated this place, down to her very core. Already she could feel its poisonous aura re-infecting her. Their trip north from Freetown had been much slower than her trip to there had been, well over a year ago. Part of it was to accommodate her companion’s preferred slack pace, which she hoped was what he assumed was the sole reason. He was a perceptive bastard, though, and it was almost guaranteed that he knew the real reason they were taking their time; she was determined to put off arriving in Nova Scotia for as long as she possibly could. She still couldn’t believe she’d let the man drag her all the way across the sea to get here. The sandy-furred girl’s frustration at being here was just as much directed at herself as it was at him.
To spite him, she began moving through the frozen marsh at a much quicker pace. Her small satchel of belongings bounced against the guitar case slung across her back. “Eh, rallenta, Luci,” came the sing-song complaint. The woman’s pace remained steady, jade eyes fixed on the horizon where their next destination was in sight. “C'è una città vecchia avanti. Affrettati il culo se vuoi essere lì prima del tramonto.” She heard a dramatic sigh from behind her, one certainly meant to garner another reaction from her. She bared her teeth at the marshy plains in front of her and ignored the lagging fisherman.
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