Re: [Dahlia's trailer.]
[Wren stepped back and let Dahlia do it herself. She moved as quick as she could, once Dahlia was on her feet, and she'd been hovering until then, ready to catch the other woman if she fell. But she didn't move fast enough, and Dahlia pushed past her after that skid, and after Wren had reached out quick and felt that hand on her wrist.
She said nothing about the tattoos. Nothing about the color circling itself on skin. Wren lived in a world of outcasts. She wouldn't comment. She wouldn't say. Non.
Wren followed as Dahlia leaned on the walls. A few steps behind and quiet, quiet, quiet. She stood a few feet from the bed, and she waited for Dahlia to make that slow and pained lift of legs, and she waited until Dahlia was settled.
She waited until Dahlia fell asleep.
Quiet, quiet, she found a blanket, a sheet, a comforter, a towel, a shirt. Whatever she could find, and she slipped it over the sleeping woman. And then she remained a few minutes longer. Long enough to make sure Dahlia's breathing was steady, and that Dahlia didn't choke. Okay, perhaps it was more than a few minutes, but Dahlia wouldn't know, oui?
Before leaving, she set a glass of water out, just in case Dahlia woke thirsty. And then, quiet as a church mouse, Wren left, closing the trailer door behind herself and leaving the lights on.
She didn't think Dahlia would much appreciate the darkness.]