With the small open shed behind it filled with split wood, it's impossible to make the place look abandoned; still, its shudders are shut, spare planks scavenged from broken down furniture nailed over the windows. The door is locked. And Raju is spending more time outside than he wants to, keeping watch.

He'd forgotten how boring it is. And he's never been on watch some place this cold; it turns out boredom makes the cold's bite deeper. Raju can't even wear the mittens in his pocket, he has to wear the rough fingerless gloves he'd made so he can fire if he needs to, and he's huddled into the thick blanket he's always used here in place of a coat, shivering a little, grateful Francis will have a harder time seeing through the windows now because Raju won't be able to settle down warm inside until he's spent enough time out here.

The footsteps, when they come, are obvious. It becomes very easy to keep himself still, the alert, quiet feeling dropping over him all at once. Raju straightens, settling himself between the wood shed and the back of a tree, waiting until the footsteps sound just close enough. Then he darts out, bow in his hands and arrow ready against it.

"Stop where you are," he orders, voice coming from some uncompromising place deep in the back of his chest. "If you run, I'll shoot."