Mara had vague plans to fish, and to arrange a line of snares, but those activities took supplies she didn’t yet have, so instead she gathered masses of nettles for string and strong tea. In a gully she followed a vine into the dirt and dug up a string of groundnuts, each the size of a small potato. She had never seen groundnuts before, but recognized them from books—a garland of buried tubers, all growing from a single root. Back at camp, she peeled them carefully, and boiled them in the pot until each nut could be stabbed with a sharpened stick. They tasted like dirt, with the texture of old apples. The survivors ate them all and wished for more.

Each time Mara came back to camp, she found water hot and waiting by the outdoor fire, or else mid-boil. Ashley had taken to tending water while the others scavenged, whittled, and built. It was a constant job. For the amount the survivors drank, they needed a fresh pot once or twice an hour. But Ashley embraced the task, posing for cameras on her short walks to the lake, lifting and turning the pot like it was a product in an infomercial. Blowing kisses, flipping her hair. It struck Mara that of the four of them, Ashley was making her own story. Performing without pretension, but not self-effacing, either. She walked the line well. Mara couldn’t imagine trying.

When the water was hot, Mara drank it right away. The heat helped mask the taste of algae and the grit of unsettled mud. But secretly she preferred when the water wasn’t ready, because then she could sit awhile and wait for the pinprick bubbles to form and rise. She’d prod coals here and there with a stick, as if their arrangement made all the difference. Ashley leaned back on her hands, and Mara would show off what she’d gathered, arranging herbs and roots on the flattened grass, and, one bright day, a crown of flowers for Ashley to wear. The next time Mara came back to camp, Ashley had woven her a basket of reeds. The basket was lopsided and uneven. But from then on, Mara carried it wherever she went, and no longer made a bowl from the hem of her tunic.

Ashley told her she got bored sometimes, boiling the water, so Mara taught her about wild violets. They grew in the meadow, so Ashley didn’t have to walk far. The flowers and leaves were edible. You could eat them raw or cooked, and the flavor was mild.

“I know I don’t have a ton of experience,” Ashley said. “But I want to learn. If you have any feedback, or advice—”

The question surprised Mara. There was one thing she had noticed, but she wasn’t sure how to say it. Maybe it sounded like an insult. She decided to try saying it anyway.

“You should be more present,” she said. “When you’re walking around. You’re in the woods, right, but you’re not walking like you’re in the woods. Not from what I’ve seen. You walk like you’re anywhere. But out here, you should walk differently.”