7: Ryann
Ryann
Ryann looked up when Keelin put the bowl in front of her. Steam rose, bringing with it the scent of tomatoes and herbs.
“Thanks,” she said.
Keelin shrugged. “Be better with fresh ingredients.”
“Sorry. I’ll try to find some tomorrow.”
“Didn’t mean it like that. Dangerous out there. You’re doing your best.”
“I could do more.”
Keelin shrugged again, grabbed her own bowl, and sat opposite Ryann.
Their living quarters were small—a kitchen area, this wobbly table, and a couple of easy chairs that had seen better days. There were a couple of bunks in the bedroom—too small for Keelin, but she hadn’t complained out loud—and the taps in the wash-room dripped at the slightest provocation. They kept the stained covers over the windows, which at least meant they didn’t hav
