Excerpt: What's Left Behind(working title)

At night, if it was cold, which it often was, Emelian and I would build a large fire outside of the boxcar and we would sit around it. Spec would sit between Emelian and me, and chatter about the day's nothings, and memories of hers and our pasts. After an hour or so her talk would slow up and eventually cease altogether. Her head would begin to droop and the light in her eyes would fade. She usually fell asleep on the ground, or slumped against my shoulder. Then there would be only me, staring into the fire, sometimes breaking up pieces of twigs to feed it, and Emelian, sometimes looking up at the deep, lush sky above us, sometimes watching the fire and letting its flames flicker and reflect in his eyes. Sometimes after a while he would deeply inhale and begin to tell a story from his past. Sometimes he would not, and we would just sit there, reflected in silence and the light of the fire. We would often sit up deep into the night, sometimes, usually if Emelian had a story to tell, until the grey whisps of dawn were raising their misty heads and beginning to creep and take over the sky and the air.