Carthage winked.
“Don’t do that. Don’t fucking do that. You know me.”
“I know. I know. You a man who says what he wants. But sometimes a friend knows better than the man.”
“Not this time.”
Brall had much more to say still. They arrived at his tent, and he was about to invite Carthage inside and explain the entire matter to him, but a runner arrived.
He looked at the paper, grinning slow.
“New wire from those Sooners. Said they made up some time. They’ll be here tomorrow.”
Carthage nodded, and left to prepare. There would be a battle soon, and battle for the Cauldron took precedence over all things.
And yet Brall could not help but think, with Robin's life in the balance, that some sort of peace could be worked out. Perhaps he would sit down with Case or Troy or whoever ran the Family, and see what terms they could come to, just so long as he could have Robin at his side.
Chapter 10:
––––––––
W hat Robin was really good for was accounting, but when the riders were at home, and the numbers were all crunched, her duties took her elsewhere.
She and Abigail worked on the long driveway leading out into the wastes, just inside the wall surrounding Temple. The driveway led directly into the series of garages owned by the Family in the Compound.
Robin stood over a tall metal pot set over a fire. The need for this task was regular enough that the fire had its own square built from stones. Abigail had pieced it together years ago using scrap from abandoned houses further out in the area surrounding Temple. The fire boiled pitch inside the pot, and as Robin stirred it around Abigail gathered up scoops of the thick black substance with a long wooden ladle and spread it out onto the drive.
All through the wastes the men put their bikes on the hardest land around. The tires had to pass over rocks and dirt, bones and metal, scrap and rodents. When they got home, they deserved an easy path back into the safety of the Compound. Titus had insisted upon it, and so it became the law of the land. A strong home was a strong Family. Home life was built on a series of shared expectations, regular anticipation of others’ needs, and no lipping about what needed doing.
But the men were always away, and so it became the women’s duty to perform maintenance such as this. Women also were responsible for patching holes in roofs, for clearing stuffed pipes, for rehabbing broken staircases and walls, for re-insulating houses that had been allowed to decay.
Robin did not look much at Abigail. She felt ashamed for what had happened with Brall—but also joy. True joy. She knew that he would take care of her.
She could not wait for tonight. She would lose her virginity then, she knew. Finally. To a real man. To a man who deserved her beauty, her body. She would fuck him rotten, and be fucked rotten.
Maybe I'll even get pregnant.
The thought delighted her dreamy, hot young mind.
All the details were uncertain, now. Her body burned with the possibility of tasting him again, knowing his intimate touch once more. And her mind burned with the possibilities he promised, how their life might be once they declared for one another. The two sensations were in competition with one another. She could not possibly keep up them both and hope to remain a whole person. It would be like launching yourself into a fire with a rocket at your back.
But she didn’t care. It felt so gloriously good to be consumed by something, anything that wasn’t fear. Fear of Troy, fear of the wastes, fear of the world.
It would mean a betrayal of her family, a betrayal of her values, but somehow that wasn’t as important anymore. She knew he would take care of her, and that she would take care of him. She felt like he would need her. God, the way he had shuddered when he said her name, the way she had emptied him. She knew that she was important to his life now. It was integral to her being, knowing she suddenly couldn’t live
“Don’t do that. Don’t fucking do that. You know me.”
“I know. I know. You a man who says what he wants. But sometimes a friend knows better than the man.”
“Not this time.”
Brall had much more to say still. They arrived at his tent, and he was about to invite Carthage inside and explain the entire matter to him, but a runner arrived.
He looked at the paper, grinning slow.
“New wire from those Sooners. Said they made up some time. They’ll be here tomorrow.”
Carthage nodded, and left to prepare. There would be a battle soon, and battle for the Cauldron took precedence over all things.
And yet Brall could not help but think, with Robin's life in the balance, that some sort of peace could be worked out. Perhaps he would sit down with Case or Troy or whoever ran the Family, and see what terms they could come to, just so long as he could have Robin at his side.
Chapter 10:
––––––––
W hat Robin was really good for was accounting, but when the riders were at home, and the numbers were all crunched, her duties took her elsewhere.
She and Abigail worked on the long driveway leading out into the wastes, just inside the wall surrounding Temple. The driveway led directly into the series of garages owned by the Family in the Compound.
Robin stood over a tall metal pot set over a fire. The need for this task was regular enough that the fire had its own square built from stones. Abigail had pieced it together years ago using scrap from abandoned houses further out in the area surrounding Temple. The fire boiled pitch inside the pot, and as Robin stirred it around Abigail gathered up scoops of the thick black substance with a long wooden ladle and spread it out onto the drive.
All through the wastes the men put their bikes on the hardest land around. The tires had to pass over rocks and dirt, bones and metal, scrap and rodents. When they got home, they deserved an easy path back into the safety of the Compound. Titus had insisted upon it, and so it became the law of the land. A strong home was a strong Family. Home life was built on a series of shared expectations, regular anticipation of others’ needs, and no lipping about what needed doing.
But the men were always away, and so it became the women’s duty to perform maintenance such as this. Women also were responsible for patching holes in roofs, for clearing stuffed pipes, for rehabbing broken staircases and walls, for re-insulating houses that had been allowed to decay.
Robin did not look much at Abigail. She felt ashamed for what had happened with Brall—but also joy. True joy. She knew that he would take care of her.
She could not wait for tonight. She would lose her virginity then, she knew. Finally. To a real man. To a man who deserved her beauty, her body. She would fuck him rotten, and be fucked rotten.
Maybe I'll even get pregnant.
The thought delighted her dreamy, hot young mind.
All the details were uncertain, now. Her body burned with the possibility of tasting him again, knowing his intimate touch once more. And her mind burned with the possibilities he promised, how their life might be once they declared for one another. The two sensations were in competition with one another. She could not possibly keep up them both and hope to remain a whole person. It would be like launching yourself into a fire with a rocket at your back.
But she didn’t care. It felt so gloriously good to be consumed by something, anything that wasn’t fear. Fear of Troy, fear of the wastes, fear of the world.
It would mean a betrayal of her family, a betrayal of her values, but somehow that wasn’t as important anymore. She knew he would take care of her, and that she would take care of him. She felt like he would need her. God, the way he had shuddered when he said her name, the way she had emptied him. She knew that she was important to his life now. It was integral to her being, knowing she suddenly couldn’t live
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