Plague remains in the Pendergast household (there is little more heartbreaking than a baby who has lost his voice) and it’s Sebastian’s birthday, so might take me a day or two to join in, but I welcome your comments and feedback.
In The Undergrowth
They walked, because there was nothing else to do but walk, and they spoke, because both were more comfortable chattering than silent. But they spoke about the views they saw and about the weather, about the wildlife they caught glimpses of and the route they took. They spoke and chattered, but they never talked.
What they had done travelled with them, the proverbial elephant though they were no longer in a room; the metaphorical snake, that stalked close but invisible and would one day, she felt sure, rise up out of the undergrowth and bite them squarely in the ass.