Dolores is tired, bone tired. She stinks of corpses, has burned herself on the fire and from the cold, and the rumble in her stomach has progressed so far past hunger that it's gone straight through pain and into numbness. Still, she carries on with the tatty tarp she'd pulled out of the camp and making those smoke signals. She carries on right until they spot the caravan on the horizon.

They don't hustle much when it comes to approaching, but Dolores can't find it in herself to mind much. Despite how warm it is, the first thing she does once they've been spotted is drop the tarp over the fire and start piling snow over it. The stench has gotten into the very core of her and the sooner she can move away from it, douse it and forget, the better.

It takes around an hour for the fire to finally smother itself out--good riddance. It takes a while longer than that before the caravan arrives, and when they do she sags with such relief that she nearly faints. She settles for dropping down into the snow, sitting and resting her arms, and smiling at anything and anyone around.

She'd always liked the newcomers but she can't recall the last time she'd been so very happy to see any one of them.