(Author's Note: Told you all that I had one more fic that I was working on. This is a story that I've been pecking on and off for the better half of a year, originally starting life as a Chrobin Week 2015 fic. In my defense trying to emulate Isaac Marion's style is hard, and I will never, EVER try to do so again.

I do suggest a case of reader beware, since this fic deals with darker subject matter. In a metaphorical manner, but dark subjects all the same, such as depression, mortality, and as is the case of the source material, a romantic zombie apocalypse.

You don't need to have read or watched Warm Bodies to enjoy this FE:A fanfic, but I recommend it anyways since they're great stories. I own none of them, and hope you enjoy reading!)

Cold Bodies

R. She knows that is how her name began. Nothing past that, and she wonders if she should feel annoyance for it. But being dead has a way of killing off those emotions before they can draw full breath. It leaves her with only a hazy fog to wander through.

She has traced the path through the ruins of this city often, enough that even her shuffling steps won't trip over the broken stone. She watches the world from underneath the hood drawn over her face, the underside of the cloth illuminated by the red glow of her eyes. The sun overhead always has a wane, strained light to it. The colors around dimmed out as though there is always a smoked-over, stained glass between her eyes and everything else.

She hears a whickering overhead sometimes. Some sort of large animal making their home above the Risen… and something that can likely fly, given that it hasn't been ripped to shreds just yet by the hungry dead. A part of her sometimes wants to investigate… but it takes effort to make that part of her stir. Easier to just remain in the haze and have her thoughts only occasionally stir, like something turning over in its sleep.

R isn't the only dead one to wander the outskirts, picking over old bones of cities for any sign of life. The living call them 'Risen' when they aren't screaming in terror or battle rage against them. R supposes that's as good a name for them as any.

Some of them hold onto their past lives better than others. Most of their number are well beyond being 'living' dead. They only live in the sense that they need to kill and feed to stay alive. The rest of the time they shamble and groan.

Not that R can criticize, much. She isn't much one for conversation. At least she's in slightly better upkeep; no stitch-like scars crisscrossing her face, no rot gripping at her flesh. She finds that she keeps company with others in the same state. Those who can ALMOST manage words but not quite. Two of those she keeps the most contact with could have been mages in some past life. Now their robes are torn and shredded, their hair matted down and losing the white or black luster that it might have once had.

The boy of their group goes by 'H.' The way he breathes it out sounds like he's always trying and failing to manage a laugh. The somber one, a woman, can manage two sounds for her own name. 'Th.' R tries not to hold a grudge that her name has one more letter than hers.

The three of them form one group, one that shambles their way between one feeding and the next. Sometimes they find themselves joined by one more.

Like today, when the other Risen drift apart, making room for a figure. He doesn't shamble like the rest of them. He moves with a purpose, a power, and stands taller than the rest of them. Gaunter as well; it's like the magic that keeps him more aware, more alive than the rest of them takes a toll on his body. He is little more than a canvas of blackened skin stretched over bones.

All the life is in his eyes. If hers and the others glow sullen red, his burn. The difference is as clear as fresh blood against old scabs. There is authority in that gaze as well, focus that her own eyes lack.

Until their gazes meet. The lips pull up on the Risen's face as he focuses on her. His gaze burns brighter and she wonders at the look in face. It is almost like… pride. Like someone tossing and turning in a thick, shrouded sleep, R feels the briefest murmur of something in the back of her head. Something heavy, smoldering, and she almost has a name for it.

Resentment.

But that word curls away quickly, the longer she meets those red eyes. It gets smothered up by something else. Something hungry. All around them, that thought spreads. The Risen go from something aimless to something with a purpose, turning towards a massive, walled settlement that looms nearby; just visible, and just carrying the hum of activity.

It's time again to seek out the living.

-o-o-o-

The gates to the world outside groan like a dying man. Impossibly heavy on their hinges, they yawn open and show the blasted city and torn up countryside outside. Looking over the black scorch marks on the buildings and the gray quality the fields have taken on, it's already clear they'll need to range out further than before to find supplies.

Feeding the city has turned into a full time job, and the world outside is just as hungry for them. A shiver moves through the assembled Shepherds standing at the entrance; a deep breath before falling into whatever waits outside. With each venture their clothing and armor gets more and more ragged, with a few more notches, wear and tear digging into their weapons. The only sword that doesn't seem ready to break is Falchion, and Chrom's hands are beginning to shake whenever he holds it.

They didn't die when Gangrel overthrew the city, devoured the last of the Ylissean territories like a hungry corpse. Even the Mad King has flashes of reason, it seems. Cruel ones, but still reason. Instead of putting them to the sword, he put the swords in their hands, and pointed them towards the outside world. He let the Risen beyond the city walls do the killing for him, one expedition at a time.

As Chrom watches the gates groan open, he wonders if a fast death would have been the better option. He knows that behind them, Gangrel and his witch Aversa both are watching their backs from the towers of Ylisse's castle. He doesn't allow himself to look back, but sees Emmeryn do so. Her face has gone wane in the weeks since Ylisstol's fall. Dark circles gather around her eyes, but her gaze is unwavering whenever she looks back at Gangrel.

"Why do you do that?" Chrom snaps out, hating himself already for how harsh his words are.

"Because I keep hoping he'll see reason." Chrom breathes out slow, to keep his voice from turning into a frustrated huff. Hope is a word that has less and less meaning for him. Every day they lose one more of their number or strength when they go out.

His main hope now is to bring them all back alive. Clinging to life one day at a time, nothing more. Chrom takes his steps forward, leaving Emmeryn staring back up at the castle that used to be home. His other sister, Lissa, keeps her eyes fixed on the other Shepherds, taking in their wounds. They heal slower each day. Her hand is already tightened around her staff; there's still fight in her. More than in him OR Emm if Chrom is honest.

He takes his place at the head of the group.

-o-o-o-

The world goes a little less gray when there's new meat nearby. The scent of living things seeps into the senses like something rich and red staining sight and smell. The dead city goes brighter, snaps into sharper focus. It makes the other forms, the living things picking over the city, stand out in vivid detail. The contrast is like a siren call to her, H, Th, and every other Risen in the vicinity. Their heads yank up like hounds on a scent and feet go from shambling to an all out run.

Dead things become remarkably capable when there's something to motivate them. Their speed catches the living off guard more often than not.

Then again, maybe they're just unusually desperate today. R reflects on that as the first Risen slam into the patrol. The more decayed in their number don't bother with weapons, clawing for throats with their bare hands. It doesn't do much good against the steel the living are carrying and wearing.

H and Th both let spells crackle off their hands. Not bright like the living mages, but dark and shrouding. But no less potent. They drive the living back, splitting their forces. Two of the fighters get sheared off from the group. One of them carries a sword, his arm exposed and showing off well muscled flesh. Her mouth is beginning to water just looking at it. The other carries a spell tome.

Neither of them see her until she closes the distance.

R throws herself into both of them, right as the swordsman looks up at her. The blade pierces her shoulder, little more than a dull point of pressure and release in her flesh. With a snarl she wraps her fingers around the sword and wrenches it loose. She throws it aside while she lashes out with her own blade. The pommel catches the swordsman across the head, dropping him to the ground easily. R pulls her lips back in a snarl, ready to fall on him with sword and teeth both.

She's stopped by a pair of hands wrapped around her, wrenching her to the side. A spell book falls to the ground, unused as R fights against the grip. With a hard twist she pitches her attacker over her shoulder and throws her to the ground. Something slides into R's hands from the motion; a bit of jewelry yanked off those long hands in the struggle.

The weight of metal in her hands fades out, when R stares down at the woman, her pale blonde hair pooled around her. R hesitates for a moment, wondering at the strange light in the woman's eyes.

It is only a moment. Bright red light flares across her vision, two points of light that pierce her brain with a single thought. It lashes at her with the gaunt Risen's voice.

Kill.

She sinks her teeth into the woman's throat and rips it out with one clean motion. Blood sprays out, a vibrant red brighter than anything else. It brings light back into the world for a split second as it soaks R's skin and mouth. Thick, coppery, blazing with sensation as it splashes her. Her senses all flare back up to life, wrenched out of torpor. As the woman's life fades out, her own blazes up for a beautiful bright moment.

R knows that lives flash before eyes when they die. Being a Risen, she gets to watch some of it whenever she kills. And here again she is a spectator, watching them unfold and leaching some amount of feeling from it.

She sees the woman walking splendid, regal through a court. Sees her again, words ringing out of her throat as she calms a terrified crowd. Sees her as a girl this time, easing the hurts of a younger child; she catches a flash of blue hair and eyes, feels a warmth settling in the cavity of her chest. In another flicker the boy is grown, looking at her with a touch of pride in his eyes as he says a name.

"Emmeryn." It's the briefest whisper.

And then just like that it all fades out to black, and the world falls back into bleak, washed out colors-

Except for one brilliant flicker of blue. R's eyes rest on it. The man in the memories is still there, even though Emmeryn is dead and gone. He fights his way back into awareness, admirably well for someone who just took a sword pommel to the head. His eyes dart around, looking for something. Probably a weapon, but there are none at hand. They freeze when they land on Emmeryn's body. He chokes out her name in a ragged sob, and the fight goes out of him. He only stares as R gets closer to him.

That isn't like him, the new memories in R's head say. They are lingering much longer than usual, instead of fading out like the taste of blood on her tongue. They push the image of him training with a blade into his head. He looks at Emmeryn for a moment, smiling at her in a way that lights up the training grounds. The worries of Risen outside feel like they fall away for a moment, through Emmeryn's eyes.

He has a nice smile. But R isn't seeing that right now. Just grief and terror traced across his face. She stands over him now, and he tears his eyes up to look at her.

The red glare flickers back up in her head as she watches him. She could spill his blood and get a few more memories to hold onto.

…So why doesn't she go for his throat? Instead she hesitates, as the presence in her head whispers and the drive her to-

Kill. Killkillkillkill

Becomes more pressing. There's electricity sparking along her fingers now, a spell getting woven in her hand and ready to plunge into him.

In the back of her mind, the memories of him training surface again. He has a name. It whispers across her mind in Emmeryn's voice.

"Ch-rom." R echoes it. Her own voice cracks and hitches from disuse. Her hands though, those are still sure. She doesn't bury the spell in him. Instead she turns it around and plunges it into her own side. Just like the sword, she feels nothing aside from her flesh opening up around the attack.

Her blood and Emmeryn's blood mingles on Chrom's face, where is splashes out. He stares up at her with confusion sparking across his face, but still alive. With so much blood and death in the air, the presence in her head is satisfied. She's killed. She's shed blood.

It doesn't seem to notice how there's one less death than expected. The other fighters have been forced into a retreat. Leaving her with just Chrom. As she watches him, something in her head lurches into motion for the first time in months, years. She doesn't know how long. But she has the flicker of something in her head. An idea.

-o-o-o-

Chrom always knew the world would go mad when Emmeryn died. But he never knew it would go mad in exactly THIS way. The Risen looms over him, the last of the thunder spell sparking against her flesh. He can't tear his eyes away from it, knowing that spell was supposed to be buried in him.

But he still isn't dead. Emm's blood is forming a red stain on the ground, she's died before him, and the Risen refuses to follow how things are supposed to work. Instead of tearing him apart, she draws her fingers along the blood on her face and shoulder. She stretches her bloody fingers out, but doesn't wrap them around his throat. Instead she smears the mixture across his face, cold and coppery smelling, before drawing him upright with the other hand.

He can't think of anything else but to follow her along. With how much he stumbles and half sleep walks through this weird, WEIRD set of circumstances, he probably makes for a convincing fresh Risen. His eyes stay fixed to the ground, and he can't find the strength in him to raise his head. None of the Risen can see his eyes lack the usual red glow.

He doesn't know how long they walk. But eventually the sky gets closed off, and Chrom realizes that they've found their way inside a room; one made of brick and stone. Stone columns lay broken on the floor, like bits of shattered spine and bone.

'Temple' he thinks. By all rights it should be choked in a layer of dust… but it isn't. He looks up at the Risen that guided him here, and wonders if her robes have a way of sweeping dust aside. Illumination comes courtesy of a hole rent into the side of the room.

It's only them in here, in this near cave of a dwelling. Chrom thinks that might just be a good thing, as grief is trying to close in around him. He'd prefer if the Risen girl wasn't here at all either, as there's tears trying to sting at his eyes.

He blinks them away, turning to look at her.

"Why?" He manages to rasp out. With how raw his voice is, maybe he IS dead and raised after all and just hasn't figured it out yet. He feels half dead, like part of his heart as been ripped out and the rest of him is trying to make up for the absence.

The Risen just watches him with red, red eyes, glimmering out from under her cowl.

"Why… didn't you kill me?" Five words. More than he's heard any Risen manage before, so that must mean that he's still alive. He doesn't really expect an answer from this girl; hells, he wonders if he just hallucinated her saying his name during the battle.

"Ch…" Her voice rasps. "Ch…rom. Chrom."

…If this is a hallucination, it's a very consistent one. It's definitely not a dream, as the difficulty of drawing breath tells him.

"Don't… know." It's not much of an answer. But once again it's more than he's heard any Risen say. And she seems determined to be full of surprises by managing a few more words. "Don't… want you dead."

After that many words, Chrom wonders if he should give her a medal or something. Unexpected Risen of the Year award or similar. But since he doesn't have anything like that on hand, all he can manage is to speak.

"Well…Thanks? Sorry?" He can't decide which words to use, and so he settles for both. She gives him a blink, and he THINKS that for a moment there's a flicker of confusion there. In that, they're a match.

"Thanks for… not killing me. For saving me back there. And I'm sorry I stabbed you." He points to the hole in her shoulder, and she reaches up to it. The wound is either starting to close on its own, or the blood has just stopped giving a damn about flowing out of it.

The Risen's arm moves forward, dropping something from her fingers. Falchion clatters to the ground; somehow she must have been able to carry it back, and guide him. And she doesn't expect him to use it, with how she leaves it close to him.

Just now, he doesn't have the will to draw it against her; it also strikes him as poor form, to do that to someone who just saved him.

"…Welcome?" She tries. And Chrom, of all things, finds himself smiling. Why not smile, though? It's not like the rest of the world makes much sense anymore. For the moment, the grief in him dims against how bewildering the situation is.

And damn himself for his weakness and cowardice, but Chrom is content to leave that sorrow untouched.

-o-o-o-

In her mind, she walks through castle hallways. She isn't R anymore; her name is much smoother on the tongue, the same as her steps, everything about her demeanor. She is Emmeryn for a fleeting moment.

And the room she finds herself in is so different from the ruins; polished marble, stone, gleaming tapestries… all of it vibrant and bright on the eyes. Yet not an eyesore for R, despite seeing so much of gray until now.

Her poise is a calm match for the surroundings, as she rests a hand on a blonde haired girl crying into her shoulder.

"Sister…" the girl sobs, and near the pillars she can make out a familiar blue haired head. "They're... they're moving closer to us. They've burned towns and... and there's Plegia drawing close too."

Emmeryn's sister pushes something into her hands; a hair tie that Emmeryn recognizes, even if R is something at a loss. The name 'Phila' flickers across her mind... and with it a sense of sorrow. And yet Emmeryn still lifts her sister's head, smoothing out her hair.

"It will be well. These things… we can stand against them. We can stand against them and Gangrel, if we keep hope." Emmeryn's voice is calm, like a ray of sunlight on the face.

"Ferox is fallen. We have few allies." Chrom speaks, his voice curt and frustrated. He won't meet her eyes, his voice chocked with grief.

"But perhaps… we may still find help in unexpected places." Emmeryn answered. "Isn't that right, R?"

The dreamworld lurches in confusion, and suddenly she ISN'T in Emmeryn's skin any longer. Or in Emm's memories. Instead she stands on her own feet, her dark robes and unseemly stain against the bright memory.

But for all that she stands out, Emmeryn looks at her with a gentle gaze, and opens her mouth to speak-

She wakes up to strange noise. For a moment R doesn't know which is more confusing; the sound, or the fact that she was sleeping. Usually a Risen just slips out of consciousness for a night or a day. They let the world seep past them before clawing their way back into reality and the next kill.

The point being Risen don't sleep. They don't dream.

The Risen also don't make those noises she hears. She turns to see Chrom leaning against a wall. The moonlight from the rent in the building picks out his form. He shakes, even though it's a warm night.

His body trembles like someone has pushed a handful of cold into his flesh. It's not a spell she's familiar with, if it's magic-based at all. And his breath comes out hoarse, almost choked, even though she KNOWS his throat is fine. His sides flutter in time to the hoarse noises seeping out of his throat.

The novelty of those sounds draws her closer. That, and there seems to be something off in her own chest when she listens to them. Something that hurts, and drives her to reach out. Chrom flinches up where her hand touches his shoulder. The motion jolts her arm back, and she finds herself staring into his eyes. They have a redness to them as well, and his cheeks are streaked with water.

"T...Tears?" She whispers out, testing the word. Unfamiliar as the word is to her, it brings up others to her head. 'Crying, and grief.'

Chrom lifts his head at the word, shame flickering across his face and mingling with the sadness that twists his features up.

"S-sorry." He rasps out. "You shouldn't see me like this."

"Why?" Chrom grits his teeth at that, and R isn't entirely sure if it's frustration at her for asking, or himself for his own reaction. But he just manages a few words.

"I don't want to burden people with what I need to deal with." But despite that, R doesn't avert her gaze... and something about her presence draws more words from him. "I… I was thinking about… Emm." R freezes over the name, and the faint dream memories casting shadows on her thoughts. Chrom turns from her, fixing his eyes to the floor. "I swear, I'll… I'll find whoever killed her."

R watches him, gripping onto his sword like a lifeline. She pictures that angry glare he gives the steel transferred to her.

Emm's ring is still resting in her pocket, the weight normally invisible. Chrom's words seem to lend something to it though, turning it into a stone in her coat.

A strange ache fills her heart, sharper than all the wounds she's ever taken on. Chrom only slumps further towards the ground, dropping the sword with a faint rattle of metal.

"I couldn't save her. I take a holy weapon into battle, and I still couldn't save her." He goes silent, gathering up his breath. Trying to smooth out his expression, thought his lips still curl back to show his teeth in a grimace. And if R's tongue is still deadened, the same can't be said for his. "It's foolish, I know. We ALL know there's a risk of dying if we step outside the capital. But I still thought… it somehow wouldn't happen. I keep thinking this is just a weird dream. But then everything hits home, and I know it's real."

The way he glances over at R, he's still having a hard time believing any of this. The mood is hazy, precarious... and Chrom seems to have his own doubts on where to lead it.

So R finds herself taking the lead.

"What…Now? Wh-what if you can't get... re-evenge?" For her part, it's amazing that she can think of things in the future. Usually it's just a shambling existence, one moment to the next and not considering much of anything. But now she's planning. Thinking.

And something about that is addictive. And Chrom blinks at her over that.

"I-I'm not sure. I guess I need to work through it." He scrubs his arm across his face, trying to clear it up. "Before, a part of me wanted to run away from all of this… the cowardly part of me. I tried to keep it silent, but… I must not have kept it quiet enough. Because I'm away from everything now, and-" His breath hitches. But for all that, there's a little more firmness in his voice when he continues. "And now all I want to do is get back home. I still have friends back there. I need to get back to them. So maybe I'm not so eager to get away from all of this after all, if I'm still thinking of other people. I've got a long way to go before I can measure up to what Emm was like, but…"

He trails off, shaking his head. In the depths of R's borrowed memories, she picks out faint images; images and memories of a kind woman, caring for people, motivated by something other than a driving hunger.

And… she finds herself wondering what it would be like, to be a little more like that.

"You… will. Return. Soon." Her words are still raspy, but she tries to push in some measure of kindness.

"Soon." She tries again. "Wait…And stay… alive."

Because she still doesn't want to see him die. She remembers Emm's concern and care for him… but also, there's something different curling up in her chest too. Something distinct from the memories. And it's what drives her to reach her hand out again and rest it on his shoulder. Her grip isn't lumbering or heavy now, and Chrom doesn't flinch this time from the contact.

Instead he looks back at her, a strange look crossing his face before he gives a small nod… and returns the gesture, putting his own hand on her.

"Okay then. I might be able to… since you asked nicely." He gives a tired laugh at that, and his hand shifts a little.

His fingers catch on the hood, then push it back, exposing her face.

-o-o-o-

Chrom pauses over the Risen's face, fingers drifting near her cheeks.

Then his thoughts kick into gear and scream a simple question at him.

'What are you DOING?' There are probably neater ways of losing his fingers, than getting them bitten off. But for all his head screams at him to flinch away… Chrom keeps his hand where it is. This Risen girl has shocked him with everything else so far, so why not add close contact onto the list?

His inner caution smacks its figurative head over that. But since she's yet to bite off his fingers, Chrom keeps his hand close.

And the girl herself… she's still for a moment. Adjusting. Like she's just had light put in her eyes for the first time, now that her hood is off. For that matter, the glow of red in her eyes seems somehow… less, than before. They slide shut, like she's savoring the difference in feeling, and pulling in the warmth from his hand.

"In…tresting." Another halting word, before she opens her eyes again. The flicker of red shines on Chrom's glove, almost like blood-

He draws his hand back then. Not wanting to dwell on blood, death or… that memory, still fresh and waiting to seep into his heart if he lets it.

"…What's your name?" Chrom asks instead. "I'd like to call you something, other than 'Risen.' And I'd like to know your name if we're going to be each other's company for now." Since she doesn't show any inclination to kill him, that could be a while.

"Name… My name…?" She looks the world like she's trying to remember it, but the way her eyes narrow, she comes up with nothing. So instead she kneels to the ground of the ruin. The dust covers the floor, and she traces her finger through it. Semi-circle; her index finger traces it along sand. The moonlit dust makes her fingers gray and washed out. Vertical line. Diagonal line. Three strokes to form one symbol, in a puddle of moonlight.

"R." Chrom tries it out. "That's… your name?"

Just one letter? It seems impossibly simple, for someone so complex and confusing. (And his inner caution questions when he jumped from seeing her as something to someone.)

"What's… left." R rasps out. "Nothing else. To remember." Surprise widens her eyes, looking astonished that she's recalled that many words. Chrom's hand falls all the way to the side, staring at her… and feeling something close to sorrow, for her sake.

-o-o-o-

Eventually, Chrom sleeps again. There's only so much fighting for his life can do to keep a body going, R suspects. But she… she's slept once. Somehow. And novel as the experience is, she doesn't feel the need to return to it. Besides that her brain is… busy. All jumbled up. That's also a new experience, of having thoughts fire through her brain without fresh blood on her lips to help them along.

R suspects she couldn't go to sleep again if she wanted to. Plus, there's one other thing. Something that isn't hunger clawing at her gut. Something from the conversation that haunts at her, makes her feel hesitation over the thought of feeding… even if she has fresh, ready meat in front of her.

Even the thought of harming Chrom makes her stomach stop up. That's another new sensation; nausea.

This is the way of things; the dead eat the living, in order to continue shambling through their half-lives. They eat the living to continue, and-

…And.

And because for the briefest moments, when one life expires by their hands, they feel something else. Something that may be close to the lives they take. It's the briefest flicker, the feeling of barreling through a warm room and catching a glimpse and feel of a warm flame inside, before getting thrown back out into the cold.

This is the way of things. In a haze of shambling through un-life, it's one of the few certainties they have.

'But.' That thought, though; that is also something clear that sparks across her brain. And she didn't need to kill anything to have it. It's a fragile thing though, and vanishes when she tries to focus on it. Just that one word lingers in her thoughts.

But. And a feeling there might be something else.

-o-o-o-

She finds Chrom trying to leave, first thing in the morning. He likely thought he could slip out in the dawn, like shadows dissolve in daylight. In a way he isn't misguided; the rest of the dead have either eaten their fill or wandered to other points in the ruins. The only groans now are from the wind seeping through gaps and cracks in the buildings.

So it isn't a bad plan, per se. R has to give him props for that. (And that's another thing. Respect is… a somewhat strange, new thing taking root in her. The obedience that bone-gaunt corpse inspires in her was nowhere CLOSE to this.)

Chrom's plan probably would have worked just fine, if R hadn't chosen just then to come back from her forging trip and meet him in the doorway.

He has his sword belted to his side and clings to the hilt like a life-line. He nearly draws it on HER, when she sweeps up in front of him. A part of her wants to flinch from the blade; bit her before, it could do so again just as easily.

The rest of her focuses on Chrom, and she stands her ground. And in a second Chrom recognizes her and slams the sword back into the scabbard, all without tearing any cuts in her. He looks almost… abashed for a moment, before lifting his head to stare at her.

"How did you-? Never mind. I need to go." R shakes her head at that. And keeps her feet planted.

"R." Chrom repeats. "I need to leave. If I don't, I'm going to pass out from hunger, and-"

His words fade out when R lifts her hands. The fingers clutch around an apple, withered but without rot, and a handful of grapes. Things tugged from the handful of plants trying to claw through the oppression of the ruins. The boney figure hasn't seen them yet, apparently; no orders have hissed through the Risen to tear them out from the ground.

Chrom, for his part, has is mouth hung open. R just gives him a look, that says he should know better. She isn't dumb. She has those faint memories, that living need to eat as well. And her brain is in a hurry to work at full speed, after mired in mist for so long. It can make connections.

"I…" Chrom finally manages one word. His stomach manages much more, with a loud churning gurgle. It makes him duck his head, and take a cautious step backwards.

"…Thank you." Chrom finishes.

It's very odd, how those two words make her hands shake, and that she threatens to drop the rations she salvaged. To stop that, she shoves the food towards him. Out of shock and reflex Chrom takes it. The weight of food in his hands does plenty to convince him to retreat back inside, and start eating.

"I… I meant it." He says, after swallowing a few mouthfuls to take the edge off his hunger.

And watching him, R realizes how long it's been since she's eaten. Outside the ruins lurch into a slow unlife, the others beginning to growl and groan from hunger, from the effort of moving their bones with the end result of finding more to fuel them.

And how she feels no pangs of hunger. No desire to feed. So what does that make her, if all other Risen need to eat?

'But.'

There's that word again. A breath of hesitation in her head.

'But maybe-'

She stops up short at the thought; that word is growing out into something more.

'But maybe… there's something else worth living for.' Something that isn't just that mindless need to consume, to put in fuel so she doesn't stop moving. Something… greater than that. Better.