Re: [No. 22 -> No. 8: Hunter R & Cris M]
For a few long seconds, Hunter stared up at Cris without recognition, face smeared with mud, sweat and tears, strange trails drawing their way through the filth and down his rough cheeks. He was visibly pale under all that mess, and he didn't stop shaking, but he blinked into recognition eventually. He couldn't understand half of what Cris was saying, but that might have been because half was, well, in Spanish. The thought came to him very late, and he shook his head instead of nodding, loosening Cris' grip before the other man let his chin go.
Slowly, very slowly, Hunter unfurled from the fetal position, his heels sliding on out through the pebbles and the scrub grass, until he was spread-eagled. He kept staring upward, and only caught Cris and the rest of the world through swift glances to either side. He lifted up the fist full of mess that Cris had put in his hand, stared at it with mild comprehension, and then dropped his knuckles again, crumbles of soil dripping out through his unresistant fingers. He nodded slightly. "'Kay."
Then he took in a struggling breath, not quite at the point where he wanted to pretend he wasn't crying, and said, "Fences... are gone."