"..Nothing, just... j-just, come on," he said, taking off at a brisk pace. He turned into a jog halfway down the street while the deer followed close behind. The path they took twisted and turned amid the skeletal ruins, the cold refusing to let up and the snow falling heavier and heavier, the wind blowing hard and exacerbating the chill. They could barely see ahead of them now, the buildings they passed only coming into sight roughly a foot away from them. More than once, Handy stumbled and nearly fell as the path turned treacherous and uneven as more and more rubble got in his way. At times it even felt as it he was going uphill, but there was no noticeable rise in the ground. 