Her throat burned as she pushed the peas on her plate, back and forth. The silver platters were laid out in celebration, the group getting more gold then they had in months and splurging. It was a feast, in the small inn, tables from each of their four rooms brought into her own and pushed together. Silver plates, the prized possession of one of them. A large roast, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots and lots of ale.

The small room was full of laughter, ale being split, stories being retold. Yet she sat, her pea sticks to her mashed potatoes and she sighs. Fork dropping, she looks to her right. The small girl is eating hastily, short brown curls bouncing while doing so. The woman thinks to tell her to slow down but knows the feeling of hunger. The first real meal they’ve had in weeks yet her head hurts, throat tight and burning, stomach turning at the thought of being full.

The child beside her pauses, face covered in remnants of potato, looking towards her guardian. When their eyes meet the child’s face lights up, smile meeting her eyes. Teeth are on full display and the other smiles back grimacing at the half chewed food. She also thinks to teach her table manners. The woman picks up her own plate and begins to push the food onto the child’s who’s body shoots up, and begins to eat again.

She meets eyes with the man sitting across from her who is sipping his ale, large arms folding and eye pointed. She only shrugs, doesn’t say a word. She rarely says a word, only doing what she has to do. Though her mind wanders, to the morning, the begging and sobbing of a woman. Her body shudders involuntarily, nausea hits her and she rises. The room was small so she pushes through the others who are laughing and into the hallway. It’s cooler, no smell of ale, slowly her body slides down the wall. Looking down at herself, she’d come far from metal armor and battles. Arms covered in scars, the last years had been difficult, getting by barely. This was a supposed win, but won by the loss of another.

“You are far to kind to be doing what we are” it was the same man who sat across from her, large, dark skin, hair curled and long. Left eye covered by an eyepatch. She just hums.

“Where else would I go? What about the child?”

“The child would be fine in a church but you would not allow it. You became her mother the moment you picked her up from the rubble and here we are”

“It’s quick money”

“It’s bad money” she nods her head in agreement, there’s not much a large woman like her can do, not in this kingdom. She was not a lady, she was a soldier, lost to war. Now she was a wanderer, adventurer, bounty hunter, and apparently mother. “Though the kid is good, she will do well if you educate her”

“Well I once was a woman of high education, that will not be hard. She cannot know what we do, what we did today… I never want her to be exposed to that.”

“You speak as if we are murderers” he grunts, voice suddenly thin.

“We are, not of life but of hope.”