[ That'd be the best way to go, second to dying in one's sleep, Minato nods to himself as he squints into the distance, having trouble seeing anything in the darkness and the fog and wishing he had a—
light
is what he wished for, startled stiff when a bright light sears his vision from down the road, the backlight so strong that the figure of whatever has been following them appears a shapeless, stumbling black. Minato turns his eyes away, blinking the spots out of his vision, but the light just gets brighter and brighter, impossible to see what it's coming from, but they can hear: the acceleration of a motor, the screech of rubber on asphalt, right at their little meandering cart. ]
no subject
light
is what he wished for, startled stiff when a bright light sears his vision from down the road, the backlight so strong that the figure of whatever has been following them appears a shapeless, stumbling black. Minato turns his eyes away, blinking the spots out of his vision, but the light just gets brighter and brighter, impossible to see what it's coming from, but they can hear: the acceleration of a motor, the screech of rubber on asphalt, right at their little meandering cart. ]