HEART OF GLASS¹ ━━ the walking dead ✓

[ 034 ] butterfly to a hurricane

"Mornin'" Beth said warmly. "How are you feelin' today?"

"I should be asking you that."

She jumped down from the top bunk and landed on the floor with a muffled thump. Desperate to distract her mind, Marley rifled through the folded pile of clothes in the corner of the room ─ she had no idea how Sage had the patience to fold it all ─ until she came across an acceptable pair of pants, and a grey cropped-sleeve shirt she borrowed from Maggie back at the farm.

It was then Marley noticed that her hands were shaking. She ignored it and continued prepping herself for the day.

The early-morning chill bit at every inch of exposed flesh as she threw the clothes on over old undergarments, caring little about Beth's presence. They were practically sisters.

"How's Hershel?" Marley inquired, running a comb through her knotted tresses.

He woke up yesterday, despite his chances of survival being slimmer than the entire group's combined will to live. It was a miracle. Everyone was astounded. Hershel Greene suffered severe blood loss following his unprecedented amputation, was missing an extremely important limb as a result of it, survived the walker-bite, and still managed to valiantly cling to life despite it all.

He was strong. Mentally and physically.

"He's fine. It's like nothin' ever happened ─ he's already seein' to everyone else." Beth informed, her chapped lips curling to form an illustrious smile. She was more than pleased to have her father back. Over the past couple of days, Beth had been so worried about losing Hershel that she didn't stop and take a moment to think about how it would feel to see him open his eyes again.

Relief. That was one word for it.

Marley patted her friend's shoulder, "He's a doctor. What do you expect?"

"He's a veterinarian."

"Doesn't make a difference. We all bleed the same, don't we?"

Beth shrugged, only slightly indifferent to that analogy, "I guess."

"Hershel cares about everyone here like they're his patients," Marley added, adjusting the annoyingly creased hem of her shirt. "I think that's a trait worth acknowledging, right? His selflessness."

Beth shrugged, scuffing her shoes against the ground, "Sometimes I wish he would just . . . I dunno, think about himself." She shook her head then, chewing on the inside of her cheek as if she wanted to chew those words right back up and pretend they never left her mouth in the first place. Guilty, Beth peered back up at Marley through heavy eyelashes that fanned out above her oceanic eyes, "God, that makes me sound selfish, doesn't it?"

"No, not at all," Marley assured. She placed her hand on Beth's shoulder, gently squeezing the flesh ─ touch was her signature comforting gesture. "Just shows you care about your Dad. That's, like, the opposite of selfish."

"You think?"

"I know." Marley said pointedly. She took her hand away from Beth's shoulder, smiling instead of reaching out through touch. It meant a lot more, in a sense. Your face was like a canvas ─ every little stroke made a difference. Every little stroke had the power to highlight the emotions of the muse and elicit certain reactions within the pensive audience.