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[ season two, episode nine ]
The drive back to the Greene's farm was silent. Too quiet. Marley was stuffed in the back of the car, sitting between Glenn and . . . Randall. He was the boy from the roof — the one who landed horribly wrong and wound up impaling his leg on the sharpened tip of the fence. Rick came to the conclusion that leaving him was going against everything they stood for. It didn't matter where Randall came from — or who he was — but it was morally wrong to leave him. They had felt obligated to yank him free from the fence, bring him back to the farm, and help him any way they could.
But nothing beyond that.
As soon as Randall was fit enough to walk again, they were going to send him on his merry way.
The car screeched to a stop on the farm's front yard, and immediately everyone began to pour out of the door. Marley carefully ( and with a small grimace ) pushed herself over a sweating Randall, casting her eyes over the dirty blindfold made from a piece of his torn shirt. He was mumbling to himself, sobbing and sniffling incoherently. Tears carved through the thick grime slathered across his face, and Marley couldn't help but sympathise with him — if only a little.
Soon enough he would be gone. And then, they would be free from the restraints of what happened back at the bar.
From her position beside the car, Marley could see Sage shuffling out onto the porch, wearing an expression that was a mixture of both ferocity and relief. Smiling, Marley raised her hand and gave a small wave as she began to approach the busy porch-way — but her sister had other ideas. Whilst glaring, Sage crossed her arms, expelled a sharp exhale, and trudged back into the farmhouse without so much as greeting the long-awaited arrivals or enunciating how relieved she was that they had made it back in one piece . . . and with one extra set of hands.
"She's mad at you," Andrea said, having noticed the silent interaction and took it upon herself to admit the truth. "Didn't want you to leave, but you went ahead and did it anyway."
As she spoke, Marley noticed Andrea was smiling softly, as if reminiscing, not completely present in that current moment. If anyone could understand typical sibling squabbling, it was Andrea — especially between two sisters rather close in age.
Marley shrugged, "When isn't she mad at me?"
"Well . . . don't take offence to this, but your sister just likes to hold grudges. Almost like someone else I know." Andrea admitted jocosely, raising her brows in a teasing manner. She turned her head toward Marley and wrapped an arm around the young girl's shoulders, using one hand to rub her upper-arm in a maternalistic manner.
