[The bowl isn't noticed until much later in the night. Even the safety of the treehouse doesn't seem to be enough. There are too many ghosts haunting the walls. Of a little girl with dark hair and eyes, giggling and laughing and making the most of her second chance of life. She can even see the boy. He hadn't been there as long, but he had left his mark. The dutch oven in the corner, a small drawing on one of the walls.
She climbs down the rope ladder in order to find a new bed for the night. A tree branch, probably. That would be a good reminder of how she' better off alone.
The stew is initially regarded with suspicion. She has no appetite, no desire to eat. But the smell gets the better of her and she takes a bite. If it's poisoned, all the better. Who cares about the truce anymore? She deserves to be dead.
The next morning, she awakes. Alive. It's not what she wanted. But, eventually, she accepts that today isn't her day to die. At least not by poison. She makes her way towards where she remembers the Career's camp to be.
action;
She climbs down the rope ladder in order to find a new bed for the night. A tree branch, probably. That would be a good reminder of how she' better off alone.
The stew is initially regarded with suspicion. She has no appetite, no desire to eat. But the smell gets the better of her and she takes a bite. If it's poisoned, all the better. Who cares about the truce anymore? She deserves to be dead.
The next morning, she awakes. Alive. It's not what she wanted. But, eventually, she accepts that today isn't her day to die. At least not by poison. She makes her way towards where she remembers the Career's camp to be.
Maybe she'd still be out here.]