It was only now that she was here that Ash was missing a hundred different things - toilet paper, toothpaste, running water. In some ways it was a welcome distraction. The physical discomfort grounded her in the present, kept her from thinking too much. Earth was lost, it could never be regained. Ash had built her life on the preservation and remembrance of the past, and the grief weighed in her chest like lead. So much was gone and never would be again.

So for the moment she was merely observing, wishing for her tools so that she could join in building the little community. In part because it was a tent-city, dotted with the occasional shack or communal kitchen. The paths alternated between barely visible and muddy holes, and the air stank of too many bodies and inadequate outhouses. For every person with a glint in their eye, there were ten with the air of waiting - to be saved? for instruction? - she wasn’t sure.

Ash knew much was lost during what the others called the “Scorch” but surely they could do better than this?

She picked her way to the edges of the camp, putting on her sunglasses as if it would block out the sight. It left a bitter taste in her mouth. Instead she walked along the riverbank, making note of deep watery hollows under the trees, which were just similar enough to their terran counterparts to fall into a bizarro uncanny valley. There were several good fishing spots, if there was anything resembling fish on this planet. The air smelled faintly of chlorophyll and clean earth.

That was until the wind changed direction and the stink of human waste hit her nose. Someone had set up an outhouse too close to the river. Ash kicked a nearby rock with a low curse. A thousand years and humanity was still as goddamn stupid as it ever was. The frustration itched at the back of her mind like a compulsion: she needed to do something constructive, before she drowned herself in the stinking river.

A deep bark was her only warning before a dog barreled past her, sending her careening into the river after it. She emerged from the river a few minutes later dripping wet and smelly, with a swelling bruise on her forehead and a pounding headache. She did, however, have her hand firmly attached to the big dog’s collar. A broad tongue splatted enthusiastically against her face, and she only just held on to her irritation.

"That’s not going to work, you brat." It was absolutely working. Those big brown eyes made her think of her own dog, still frozen like a side of beef in a crate somewhere. She missed him. Thankfully this dog didn't seem to mind when she buried her face in his ruff, beyond the fact he could no longer reach her face.