[ She doesn't elaborate; Freddie doesn't particularly need her to, or think to ask—he automatically concludes that she must be referring to the Pyrenees, or maybe around Switzerland. ]
It's a lot harsher than the cold in Europe, [ he agrees, mildly. ] Or so I've heard. Every time I went overseas, it was to the Middle East. I was in Iraq and Syria. Very different climates. I prefer this one. There could be an apocalyptic snowstorm and I would still prefer this to the desert.
[ It's insane, the fact that he's starting to feel a little out of breath as he talks and walks, even though they haven't been trekking for that long, and certainly not over much uneven or difficult terrain. His heart's beating a little faster, too. Christ, I let myself get out of shape. This is embarrassing. ]
« You speak French? » [ he asks, switching to his own dialectual derivative of the very same as he poses the question. She'll be able to hear and understand him even if she doesn't, of course—he'd learned when he met John Irving that everyone can understand everything here, albeit while recognizing that they're being spoken to in a foreign tongue—but he knows from his interactions with his father that most people who speak a language other than the majority tend to appreciate it when one reaches out and demonstrates their shared fluency. It might be a comfort to her, and as not thrilled as he is right now, he can't imagine being a teenager who's already gone through everything she has now finding herself here, alone, with no parents or familiar adults.
Not that he'd wanted much of anything to do with his own parents or familiar adults when he was her age, but she seems a lot more normal than he was at that time. ]
cw physical effects of bulimia/malnutrition mention
It's a lot harsher than the cold in Europe, [ he agrees, mildly. ] Or so I've heard. Every time I went overseas, it was to the Middle East. I was in Iraq and Syria. Very different climates. I prefer this one. There could be an apocalyptic snowstorm and I would still prefer this to the desert.
[ It's insane, the fact that he's starting to feel a little out of breath as he talks and walks, even though they haven't been trekking for that long, and certainly not over much uneven or difficult terrain. His heart's beating a little faster, too. Christ, I let myself get out of shape. This is embarrassing. ]
« You speak French? » [ he asks, switching to his own dialectual derivative of the very same as he poses the question. She'll be able to hear and understand him even if she doesn't, of course—he'd learned when he met John Irving that everyone can understand everything here, albeit while recognizing that they're being spoken to in a foreign tongue—but he knows from his interactions with his father that most people who speak a language other than the majority tend to appreciate it when one reaches out and demonstrates their shared fluency. It might be a comfort to her, and as not thrilled as he is right now, he can't imagine being a teenager who's already gone through everything she has now finding herself here, alone, with no parents or familiar adults.
Not that he'd wanted much of anything to do with his own parents or familiar adults when he was her age, but she seems a lot more normal than he was at that time. ]