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It was a familiar sound; the crackle of the hand augur as it began to slip through the ice. It was difficult to keep a hold of it, with the snow coming down like it was, and he kept having to bend down and wipe the build-up away, along with the ice shavings as he drilled through. Will frowned heavily and tugged the hem of his coat down before rising again. The snow began to fall a little more heavily, fat snowflakes clinging to everything.
Will huffed in annoyance, and turned towards the left.
"Hey Abigail, could you—" The words died off as Will did not see her where he'd left her, in the bed of the truck they'd rented making fishing lures like he'd shown her. The worst case scenario played out in slow motion in his mind.
Abigail had slipped, somehow, had cracked the ice and fallen in, and somehow been abducted out from under his nose while he had been focused on getting an opening in the ice. A soft laugh from behind him drew his attention to where Abigail was.
She was standing, arms spread wide, and face canted up towards the sky, where the flakes were melting on her overly red, freckled cheeks. Will breathed a sigh—half relief, half exasperation.
"Abigail," He rose his voice and she turned towards him.
It was almost difficult to be frustrated, when she tilted her head down and the smile that split her face was so wide and genuine. Almost.
"I could use your help," Will said pointedly.
Abigail stuffed her gloved hands in to her pockets and looked, slightly, chastised, as she headed over to where he had the saw stuck down in to the ice.
"What?" Abigail asked, although her eyes immediately cut away, to the snow that was now falling more steadily, and watching it as it fell and melted on to her gloves and jacket. Will frowned slightly, then sighed.
"Abigail," Will's voice was a little more firm this time. But Abigail hardly noticed as she stepped further away from the hole in the ice and towards the snow blanketed trees.
Will let go of the saw, folded his arms over his chest, and watched Abigail as she played in the snow.
He supposed he ought to let her. Will knew that recently her life had been smothered in tragedy; it seemed this was a small thing to allow her. He really should be more annoyed that they weren't bonding. But he wasn't so heartless as to begrudge her wanting to recapture, or enjoy, a part of childhood she wasn't allowed.
Will abandoned his thought of ice fishing and tugged his coat tighter around him. The wind swirled the snow and almost obscured her for a moment. For now, Abigail wasn't a victim, wasn't a survivor, she was just a girl.
So Will watched and he waited; letting Abigail get in touch with her lost childhood.