Status: 14th May 2015: writing up two important chapters for later on in the story so I have something to work towards :)

Running Scared

The Enlightenment

We're all crammed into the communal space, huddled around the fire, passing a pot of rabbit stew between us. I've had to move my sleeping things into Margery, Stephen and Julian's room for now just so that everyone can fit comfortably in here.

That room was hardly even that though; from the looks of things, it was just about large enough for the three of them to lie side by side on a pile of blankets and high enough for me to stand without crouching. Small alcoves had been carved into the walls at some point for the purpose of keeping small trinkets safely, though I hardly lingered to inspect them because Margery had been waiting, watching, at the mouth of the room. Stephen was there too, grinning broadly at me from behind her back and pulling faces at her head, which I thought was brave of him.

"S'not much but it's home. I reckon with Julian's help, we can dig you and Grahame a little hole of your own but it'll take us a few months." he said thoughtfully, his expression suddenly turning playful. "You should be grateful you don't have to kip with Margery, she's a terrible snorer."

I barely contained my snort of laughter but Margery glowered at me, her face stormy, so I'd hurried past her and chose a seat around the fire that was furthest from her. It was then that Grahame had slunk in from outside, his hair - which has begun to grow back properly - dripping with rain water, and had promptly dropped down beside me, exhausted from his day walking the woods.

We've been sat silently next to each other since but now, as I raise my spoon to my mouth, a glob of gravy about to drip onto my lap, Grahame lightly prods my arm and murmurs to me.

I'm occupied, narrowly avoid a gravy stain on my trousers, so I miss what he says. "Huh?"

"I said, you okay?" he chuckles, shaking out his wet hair. "You've been looking a little on edge."

I glance around; Stephen is dozing against the cave wall, his head whipping back up the moment his eyes flicker shut, Julian gazing intently into the fire beside him, Roger chatting animatedly to a stony faced Margery. George is on guard at the entrance although we can't see him from here.

"Nothing, " I begin to tell him but then change my mind. "Okay, well, something. Just Margery. I think she doesn't like me much."

Grahame doesn't seem shocked about this news so I take it as confirmation. He sees my face drop and does what only he can do; he finds a bright side.

"It's how she is with everyone, don't worry over it."

"She's not like it with you." I emphasise, narrowing my eyes when he smiles sheepishly.

"Well, alright, she's only a tiny bit better with me." he confesses. "I think it's because you're just too alike."

I almost spit out the piece of rabbit I've been chewing ferociously.

"What?!"

He shrugs a shoulder but doesn't amend what he said. "It's true. You both prefer to be independent - don't look at me that way, Amelia, you hate relying on other people - you both have a strong desire to survive, you certainly expect the worst to happen all the time - "

He breaks off because I've turned my back on him, my arms wrapped around my knees as best as I can with my pregnant belly in the way. I sense him lean in, his breath on my cheek, the sound of it low in my ear, his hand on my hip.

"You're both stubborn, too."

I elbow him gently, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. "Oh, shut up."

"You gonna hog that stew all night?" Margery calls, waking a slumbering Stephen. He blinks blearily at us, like he's forgotten who he is or who we are and what we're all doing here. I see the moment that he remembers and for a split second, it's not happy. One blink later and he's back to his smiley self. I make a mental note to look into that at some point.

"Sorry, Margery." Grahame says, passing the pot on. "It's delicious, by the way. Who cooked it?"

Stephen claps a hand on Julian's back, making him rock forward, almost falling into the fire because he's sat so close.

"Thanks, Julian." Grahame says appreciatively, his charm turned up to maximum but Julian just nods once, his eyes still locked onto the flames.

There's definitely something there. Something must have happened to them to make them act so differently from each other; Stephen is all blown outwards and Julian is sucked right into himself. My curiosity is burning when Grahame speaks again.

"How did you get here, Margery?"

We all go still, even Roger who is in the midst of observing a holey sock.

"What's it to you." Margery bites, her words so cutting that I can see the air slice in half. She doesn't say it like a question, she says it as a statement.

"Well, all of you know our story, " Grahame explains calmly, gesturing between us, as if he isn't about to be murdered by Margery. "It's seems only fair we know yours. I know it must have been a difficult time for all of you - "

Margery releases one of her fleeting laughs, loud enough for us to hear that it's mocking.

"It wasn't hard for you then? To give up your life? I find that hard to believe." Grahame questions, coaxing the answers out of her by doubting her. He's learnt a lot about these people after a few weeks in their company.

"As if. My city is different from yours, I lived further north. It rains almost constantly there, it's a miserable place."

"So what was your plan? How did you get out?"

We're all listening attentively. I can tell that this is something the others have never heard before, the story of Margery's escape, they're all hanging off her every word. She knows that we're all focused on her and she plays up to it.

"My plan?" she cackles, tossing her head back, the curls of her hair bouncing around her shoulders. "I never had one. My choice to leave was spontaneous. I was out for a walk by our fences and spotted that an animal had dug underneath, something that the Enforcers must have missed because they were slacking off. I had to deepen the gap with my hands so I could get through - it tore one of my fingernails clean off - but I did it; I squeezed myself under and took off into the trees with only my brain and the clothes on my back."

"How did you feel when you got out?" Grahame says in a hushed voice. I know he's thinking of our own break out; that exhilaration, the panic, the overwhelming relief that we actually, truly, really did it. Then the worst of it: doubt. Strong enough that it was almost physical, making us hesitate and wonder whether we shouldn't have been so foolish, whether we could survive beyond our borders without protection from the very people who enslaved us.

"It didn't bother me," she drawls, picking out dirt from her fingernails. "I've been fascinated with the outside all my life. When I was younger, I found books the government would shudder over if they knew they existed, all providing me with the exact information I needed to survive away from them. What foods I can eat, how to make a fire, the importance of fresh water. It's all out there, it's just knowing where to find it. I've been reading those books since I was in my early twenties, I know them all off by heart. It's how we've all managed to survive so long - these lot were a sorry sight when I found them. I taught them everything."

This spikes my attention. She found them, as if they'd been wandering the woods fruitlessly before she came along, as if the only reason that she was still with them was because she chooses to be. I have the impression that as soon as she is bored, she will leave us without a second glance. She's an uncertainty, a catch. She could betray us all tomorrow if she felt inclined to do so.

"And we're better for having her." Roger intercedes, plainly cutting off the conversation. He struggles to his feet and dusts off his clothes. "I better go relieve George, it's getting late. Come on, everyone, get to sleep."

I gather my things from the other room and spread out the blanket as I ponder over everything I've heard tonight. I barely notice George as he slips through to his room, his head hanging to avoid looking at us.

I whisper a vague goodnight to Grahame, who softly snores the second his eyes shut.

Finally, I've gained some footing in this situation. I've learnt something valuable tonight about Margery, I now know what kind of person she is. The others aren't under the illusion that she's in it for the long haul either, they know too. Well, perhaps not Roger, I think he secretly hopes that she's formed an attachment to them all, as he has with them. I just can't understand why he would want to keep her around, why he would put up with her moodiness and sharp retorts. Is there something in her that I'm not seeing?

I think not.