@violet-parnel
Imogen had woken up that morning with a stiffness in her neck, likely the result of being crammed into a tent with Tilly Worthington who didn’t seem to be aware that her other three tentmates might require some space to sleep as well. With her hair in a messy bun, Imogen rubbed the back of her neck and groaned as her eyes fell shut, pretending for just a moment that she could crawl back into her sleeping bag instead of packing it all up and lugging it up Mount Martha for another whole day. When her eyes opened, she was almost convinced that she was still daydreaming, a familiar figure alone, away from the group and filling a canteen from the water box one of the groups had brought with them. She laughed to herself, unsure of whether her reaction stemmed from amusement, disbelief, irony or perhaps a combination of all of the above. She’d been vaguely aware that there were a couple of new students joining them for the camping trip, she recalled a rumor that one of them was from Scotland but nothing had been mentioned about the other girl, the one with the dark hair and the cat-like eyes that still managed to look pretty in her weatherproof jacket.
Imogen straightened her jacket as she wandered over to the female, “Your hair has grown, it looks nice,” she said plainly, an observation and a cool tone that made it clear that Imogen had no interest in addressing their past. Most people would have approached with caution, an apology perhaps, maybe even a greeting or some semblance of recognition of the fact that Imogen had savaged her relationship with the other girl but evidently, Imogen tended not to fall under the category of ‘most people’,
