It was as though a scale were above him in Cecilia's mind; one side labeled 'traumatized,' the other, 'shy.' When he failed to identify himself and faltered a bit, the invisible needle pointed slightly more toward 'shy.' Cecilia could deal with that.
"The thought crossed my mind," she admitted. "But save for ripping up sheets, I haven't found anything to wrap them with. And I think the odds are better that I'd turn an ankle and do my harm than good. There are people that insist hiking and running in bare foot out of doors is one of the healthiest things you can do for yourself. I guess I'm going to prove them right or wrong, one way or another." Cecilia shrugged. Oh, her feet were killing her. She'd woken up this morning to find them filthy and covered in blisters, but she had cleaned them and endeavored to push on anyway. Just one more day. She could make this trip just one more day. "What's your name?"