Cheryl hates every moment of this. She hates the rations, the unfashionable (but admittedly warm) clothing, the fact that she has to walk for miles every day, and to top it all off when they do get time to rest she can barely sleep and her bedding is itchy. She tries not to think about how the cold reminds her of the cold she felt when she fell into the Sweetwater River, but in the long silences that's where her thoughts keep returning to.

There's no where to go but forward, and Cheryl trudges along looking miserable. She stumbles, tripping over a snowdrift and tumbling into the icy cold. She's embarrassed, annoyed, but exhausted enough that she doesn't get up immediately. Maybe she'll just rest a moment.