Chapter 7

                                    

                                          
    The next few days went the same way.
                          
    There wasn't much talking beyond instructions and discussing if the small building they were making was going according to plan. The mood had lightened a little, but it was still somber around the copse and even during the day while they working.
                          
    They completed it around the middle of the fourth day.
                          
    The last of the mud, mixed in with other materials to create a substance, was packed onto the wall and they left it to dry. It formed a strong, solid padding to the wooden/leave frame of the large hut. It was steady. Arthur nodded, smiling.
                          
    "This is good," he said. "I can work with this." His tone was lighthearted and approving, and for a little while, Travis felt alright again.
                          
    The hut was right next to their copse, and while it wasn't nearly big enough to house all four of them, it would have sufficient space to store a lot of water and small amounts of food at a time. Peter and Larry considered it a success, and Travis agreed with them, but didn't voice it.
                          
    They celebrated by making the rest of a day a lazy one. They lay around, chatting and eating. It was actually even more peaceful than usual-- there wasn't much noise, there didn't seem to be as many larger predators in this area of the forest just based on the noises Travis had heard at night so far, and the bugs weren't bothering him.
                          
    Douglas was dead, though, and Travis still couldn't get over it.
                          
    He sat off by himself, in his hammock at the edge of the copse.
                          
    Could I have saved him?
                          
    Travis shook his head.
                          
    It does no good to think about that kind of thing, now, he thought.
                          
    The thoughts had come to him, now, though, and they weren't going to go away just like that, no matter how badly he wanted them to. Travis hung his head and put his face in his palms. He let out a sigh.
                          
    How are we going to get through this?
                          
    Larry sat down next to him, letting out a sigh.
                          
    "Larry?" Travis asked, rubbing his eyes. He dried his tears as best as he could, but there was no doubt that Larry had already seen them. The man let out a groan.
                          
    "Hey, Travis. I've been watching you for a while, now," he admitted. "Ever since Douglas died. It's almost been a week. I almost can't believe it."
                          
    Travis let out a grunt of agreement and moved to stand up. Larry grabbed his arm.
                          
    "Stay," the older man said. He'd been listening to Larry's voice so long now that the nasally quality of it hardly even bothered him anymore. He plopped back down onto the hammock without a word, staring at Larry.
                          
    "I know you feel bad, Travis--"
                          
    "Yeah, I feel really shitty," Travis said, interrupting him. "This isn't going to be one of those things where you try to cheer me up, is it? I'll tell you right now that it's not going to work."
                          
    Larry sighed again.
                          
    "I still have to try, anyway," he said, offering a ridiculous smile. Travis rolled his eyes.
                          
    "Here comes the next part of the generic cheer up talk. I know what you're going through, Travis. I've lost people before too. I'm pretty sure everyone has. I just want to make sure it's not distracting you too much." Larry paused for a long while, and Travis wondered if he was done talking, but Larry was scrambling for what to say.