Tom knelt down at the water, filling the canteen against the current and glanced up to catch Mike's profile against the scant moonlight.

"I know," he said softly. He'd felt Mike twitching in his sleep, sharp breaths, more so since Eostre had gone away. It was how it worked, post traumatic stress and guilt. They'd left a broken world behind them, but there was still shrapnel stuck in their bones.

"But here..." he said softly, "Here we have to dream about home."

Because that's where we're going. It had to be true.