he bullets rattled in her pocket as she jogged back home. He was right, of course; she had barely enough time to drag the meat to the trading station, though she didn't think she'd have any issues unloading the meat. Even after seven years, the group was unable to entirely fend for itself, something she blamed half on ammo rationing, and half on some sort of machoism that kept the females from being allowed to hunt. While she could understand it in the beginning, when most of the girls had been too young, and the women pregnant for the most part, now the girls were old enough that they should be proficient squirrel hunters, at least. Instead they spent nearly eight hours a day sitting on their bums.

As expected, heads were turning in her direction as soon as she passed the perimeter, one of the guards even slipping her a coin for a bag of jerky. She barely had the lids popped when people began lining up, haggling with each other an her. 'Could we split the ham?' 'If you do the roast, we'll do the sides.'. Bree loved to hear them working together now, a far cry from the near-rioting that she had caused upon her first visit, weighed down by no more than a dozen rabbits. Now, confronted with more than seven times the meat, and they were twenty-fold more civil. The approach of Brandon caused a mixture of exasperation and respect to surge through her.

The man was a good leader, a good not-quite soldier, but still managed to rub Bree the wrong way. “Greetings, Pocahontas.” he greeted with a small, smug smirk. Bree rolled her eyes, choosing not to respond. “Put aside fifty pounds for my men.” he ordered, cutting to the chase. She clicked her tongue, before holding her hand out. “Up front.” she ordered, and he sighed heavily, but she made no move to retract her hand. Grudgingly, he forked over five gold coins, which she quickly pocketed, before re-organizing the two coolers before shoving one back “I expect the cooler back.” she told him, even as she continued selling the remaining meat. There wasn't much left, as the soldier's order took what amounted to an entire pig. Still, the people stayed calm, though some shot him dirty looks.

“Have you thought anymore on staying?” he asked quietly, standing just a hair too close for her comfort. “No.” she sourly snapped, backing off a half step and posturing until he backed off himself. “I have a good place all to myself.” she continued, a touch calmer. He licked his lips, hoping his face hadn't shown the fear he felt at her abrupt reaction. It wasn't the first time she had reacted such, baring her -remarkably white- teeth into a snarl as she lifted herself to her full height, but every time, it surprised him. IT surprised him that such a pretty girl could turn feral in a second, and surprised that she didn't see how unnecessary it was. How would he, could he, word it so that she doesn't fell inferior, but sees how much better life in here was? How nice it was to get to fully relax, knowing that there were armed guards watching over her? How much she could learn in the same schools she scorned? How she might not have to spend her days alone, when there was an eligible male right in front of her face?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

She closed up the now-emptied cooler as he watched, and pulled out the bullets. “Just 9mm this time.” she stated, pulling out the pouches of ammo. Time was, she'd leave it at that, but she felt comfortable enough to add “the brass is running a bit thin, but they should fire all right.” She made as if to leave, but he caught her by the wrist. She bared her teeth as she whirled to face him, but didn't make a move to pull the wrist away. “How about I give you a tour? You haven't been to the school since you helped build it.” He asked, and saw her falter for a second “I suppose I could take the time.” she finally stated, though she cut her eyes down to her coolers. “No one will touch them.” he promised, and she sighed, striding forward. He had to nearly jog to catch up, though he took the opportunity to enjoy the view. “You could slow down a bit, you know.” he stated, and she shot him a mildly amused look before slowing down just a notch. “We've been busy building houses. Put up four more this year alone.” he stated, proud of the progress made. “Do you even have enough people to fill them?” was her cutting reply, though she turned her head to study the log cabins. “Not currently.” he conceded, as they came to the front of the school. Her eyes flickered up, taking in the mildly-imposing building.

He looked over at her, but her face gave away nothing, except a slight smile as she noticed the plaque that had been added. “You misspelled my last name.” she stated, even as she opened the door and strode in. The building was a simple barn-style, classrooms to either side as an aisle passed through the center. The walls were lined with crude drawings of little children, and her lips curled into a genuine smile as she ran a finger over one. “They're here between the hours of eight to three. Lunch is provided between the hours of noon and one.” He told her, as she peered in at the orderly rows of children, staring attentively at the board. “This is the class of seniors. Your class.” he told her, as he gently guided her to the room. She wasn't resisting, and she was in front of the class before she realized what had happened. Her eyes swept over the crowd of her so-called peers, noticing the modest clothing that smacked of a uniform, along with the relatively pale skin. Though she rarely wore anything else, she now felt self conscious in her tank top and shorts, balking slightly. Brandon's hand kept her from fleeing as she was asked to answer the question on the board. Her lips pursed as she accepted the chalk with slightly shaking fingers, looking up at the problem.

Brandon wasn't sure what he had expected – her lashing out, frustrated at her stupidity, a break down as she realized her inferiority – but he didn't expect what happened. She took just a second to scrawl down the answers, in messy but legible script. Once she was done, she whirled, jabbing the chalk into his chest roughly. There was the aggression he was used to, vented in a slightly more civil manner. “You've a terrible eye for age. I'd be a sophomore.” she shot over her shoulder as she quickly moved to the door before pausing, and looking amused. “I can out math your students, but could your students out shoot me?” she asked, before leaving, leaving Brandon to look and feel, like a failure.