society

a few berries and purslane leaves. Nothing else for . . . quite a long time.”
He nodded. “I thought so. Marou an’ me had a few thin times too. He taught me that you’ve got to start eating again slowly. Soup is best.” He pulled the pot from the center of the flames with a stick, and let it stand in the embers on the edge, so just a fuzz of little bubbles buzzed up steadily from the hot metal. He went to his pack again, and emerged with a battered mug, and a hunk of bread.
A few balancing tricks with a hot pot filled the mug, which he handed her. “Drink it. Slowly. The bread’s a bit old, so dunk it in the soup. And don’t be stupid enough to wolf it again. I’m not making you more food to upchuck in the bushes.” The knight in shining armor was supremely unaware that every time his kindness raised him a step in the princess’s estimation, his tongue took him two steps back.
The warm soup and the small pieces of bread curdled uneasily in her stomach. For the moment at least, it seemed they weren’t going to come back up. With food, her mind began to function along its normal paths. This boy . . . he could be used. She’d been avoiding human settlement so as to leave no trace of her passage. At first it had just been wise, but fear had prevented her from going to buy food. But this boy, well, he could buy her food, and provide some protection too. He was young and not very big . . . not so good for defending her, but also small enough for her to fend off easily. She gave him one of her devastating smiles.
He looked at her across the fire and sighed. “I wish you were my sister.” He came from a place and level of society in which incest was unpleasantly normal.
She was stunned. “I’m no relation of yours, you lowborn common boy!”
He shrugged. “Didn’t say you were.” He lapsed into silence, looking out at the darkness over her ­shoulder.
At length, having thought the statement over, and