She hadn't been thinking. Seol would later admit that to herself. She had merely followed the men out of instinct. Instinct to find trouble it seemed.
The path they take is unfamiliar at best, untrodden to the extent that there is no path at all. But the men walk as if they know where they are heading to, as if there is a map in their fat, balding heads.
The trees draw thick enough that even without leaves, their naked boughs make a thick canopy overhead, leaving only a scarce amount of light to filter through. Where the snow hasn't fallen thickly, Seol notices ruins of a track once or twice.
