Re: [No. 22 -> No. 8: Hunter R & Cris M]
Hunter was unrecognizable as he reappeared over the ridge of crumbling dirt, hair a mess, eyes red, every pebble and smear of mud down the front of his shirt as he caught the edge with his knee and Cris pulled him the rest of the way up. As soon as he had purchase, he scrabbled forward and away from the darkness yawning behind him, losing his grip twice and falling headlong before he got himself far enough away to count himself alive.
Hunter just stayed on the ground once he got there, the fabric of Cris' sleeve coming apart in his fingers, but he didn't let it go. He was a mess, shaking and rambling prayers of his own, and he didn't care. He didn't care who saw him, Cris or nobody, because he was alive and staying that way. He stared up at the sky, thoroughly black except for the familiar spattering of stars overhead, and blinked through the prayers. If he didn't look down, there wouldn't be another one, another hole or another fence. He held on to the jacket and curled up around it so he couldn't fall again.