[sylvanSpider]

Aren stuck to slicing up the more solid samples, the pieces that wouldn't release the spores. Those, he kept tightly sealed. He'd finally made it out of the walls and he wasn't about to muss up his chance by infecting his guide and himself. He stayed hunched over, taking a scalpel carefully to a stalk, slicing it into impossibly thin slices before pressing it between two small pieces of glass. “Y'know, I can help with that. Can pick up a white board and markers and I can teach him to read. That way you're not risking your neck for free. Y'know, service for service.”

When he was done creating the slides, he pulled out his own cans of food. Ravioli today. Cold ravioli. But it was fine either way, and when he was finished with all of the pasta, he scooped out the sauce and ate that too, knowing that one couldn't really afford to waste anything outside of the walls. He didn't complain about the lack of a fire. He knew better.

=-=-=-=-=

Aren slept fitfully, but the scenes playing out behind his eyelids were ones that never escaped his lips. The rest he got was going to be no different than what he'd be getting in the city regardless. He didn't grumble when he was woken to take his turn; he simply grabbed his gun and nodded to his companion. While the infected were active at all times, they were particularly lethal at night, and he understood the importance of silence. His watch was silent, save for the troubles Ian had in his sleep.

He made it to Ian's side, his brow furrowed with worry when Ian sat upright, and he placed his hand on Ian's shoulder, “You alright, man? You were tossin' in your sleep.”