(hope it's okay to have moved some time forward)
Hershel had started counting footsteps since they'd found the pink haired girl, but after what felt like hours, he realized he'd lost track of his numbers and started over more than once. One minute he was on ninety-four, the next he remembered was forty-two. Then sixty, and still no Sleepy Hollow. His pace had been getting slower and slower, the only real sensation he knew now was the hot throbbing of his leg, grating bone and scar tissue against the thin pad between the prosthetic and the stump it was attached to.
Discouragement and fatigue had been a regular part of his life for more than a couple years, and he'd somehow always managed to push through. But this place seemed different, and he just couldn't go on.
"Fellas-" he started, feeling more weight in his voice than his heart was prepared to take. He leaned on his cane heavily, looking up to the three others- he imagined he didn't look much different than the poor girl. "I have to take a break..."