The group traveled in silence, each brooding in their own way.
This latest holocaust had left an impact on the group, as they all silently pondered the limitless what-ifs of their past months travelling together.
What if they'd made this deal over that?
What if they'd gone left instead of right at a crucial moment?
Would the fairies still be alive?
Their collective guilt drove them, though they stopped to rest, it was almost an atonomous function verses a need. They knew that they must have rest in order to regain their abilities which they would need for their vengeance. Nothing more, nothing less. Like a professional fighter simply eating the best fuel for their bodies. Passionless and tasteless.
As Manbearpig rode atop Gluestick, whose head was drooped in her own, silent horror, his introspection gnawed at him like a parasite.
What must the horse be thinking about all of this? What must HE be thinking about all of this? What was HIS part in all of these horrors? How could HE have prevented it? Manbearpig was accustomed to being self-reliant in his solitude, and, as a result, he was unaccustomed to having to harbor the guilt of the many upon his shoulders.
He silently vowed to do his part. To sharpen his senses. Perhaps he'd been going about his adventuring all wrong - perhaps he should be the one to sense danger. The one to be on the lookout. Ultimately, self improvement seemed like the most logical choice, after all - it was the only thing he truly had control over.
A bird whistled past in the distance, as if to signify that Manbearpig's inner monologue was correct.
He opened himself up to the glory of nature and felt his senses become more acute. Like he could almost see danger before it happened. He squinted into the sunlight and saw distinctions in the volumetric lighting that had escaped his previous observations. He thought to himself how an intricate light-beam-based trap might function, and how to disarm it.
Like he had some kind of supernatural, extra sensory skill, Manbearpig began to see the possibilities for traps everywhere. In the trees, in the air...
His inner musings were cut short by Tribby stepping onto a snare and getting rocketed into the air. Manbearpig frowned. He'd have to practice prioritizing these searches via probability.