Harry didn't stop walking until the campfire was nothing more than a dull orange glow between the trees.
Snow crunched beneath every step.
His jaw stayed locked.
His hands opened and closed at his sides, fingers flexing hard enough that the leather of his gloves creaked.
He didn't hear Bill approach.
He only noticed him when the older man stopped beside him, struck a match against his boot, and lit another cigarette.
The flame burned for a second before the wind stole it.
Bill cupped the cigarette with one hand, took a slow drag, then exhaled through his nose.
Smoke drifted sideways through the trees.
For nearly half a minute, neither of them spoke.
Bill watched the forest.
Harry watched nothing.
Finally—
"What the hell's got your panties in a twist?"
Harry didn't answer.
Bill took another drag.
"You've been stompin' around like somebody pissed in your cereal."
Still nothing.
Bill chuckled to himself.
"Didn't know you were this sentimental."
