The smoke was gone, but the taste of ash still burned the back of her throat. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the now crisp, winter air.

He squatted, by the base of the tree, watching her. Waiting.

She let her gaze roam upwards, through the newly-budded branches overhead, all the way to top, where the setting sun painted them the colour of fire.

"Time is running out, Ayessa," he said.

"Time is always running out," she replied with a sigh.

He said nothing, and when she looked at him he only stood and held out his hand again.

She hesitated for only a moment, then reached forth and placed her hand in his.