The campfire flickered, casting shadows that swayed like reeds.
The few gathered together deliberately spoke in hushed tones.
"Old Mand, those damned wanderers have dispersed, today little Pi caught one," said the speaker, waving his hand, "Chop it!"
"You should know, we bear no grudge."
Old Mand rolled his eyes, pretending not to understand the other's point.
Those living on this land bore no grudge against one another; they were merely scavenging dogs fighting for scraps.
For when every encounter was a matter of life and death, in the instinct to survive, grievances felt petty.
Yet his companion was still smacking his lips, "I mean the women they stole."
Old Mand emphasized, "Those women are a burden."
If those women were to fall into their hands again, they'd have no good fate.
Although falling into others' hands wouldn't fare better, as long as they didn't suffer before his eyes... that was the last of his conscience.
If the settlement had no food, women were burdens.
