She had her own scars, a cut from her forehead to cheek from an enraged shopkeeper who found out she stole his produce. Mary felt pleased to be called cub, being the closest form of endearment she had been shown in a long time. “What are you making? I taught myself how to cook, but I was never any good.”
"Just a heavy stew." John pushed into the home and set the basket on the chair, taking off his gauntlets and waving at Brinthal who sat huddled in the corner with her book. Course he wasn’t the most social individual but he did try to be polite in front of children. "It doesn’t matter, just need ye to cut up some vegetables and toss them in the pot." He brought the large cast iron pot over to the pump to get some water in it. "Since it’ll be a few hours I have some bread and milk for ya."