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chapter seven, heroine at heart
(tw: racism)
FLAT IRON LAKE STOOD STILL WITH ALL OF ITS SHINING GLORY, a golden ray of light bringing life to the body of water and the flowers that now bloomed peacefully in the greenery. It was safe to say that spring had finally reached its peak, with the weather growing warmer by the day and those harsh wintry gales becoming nothing but a distant memory.
Anna couldn't deny that she had missed the winter. The way she had sought safety in those thick woollen blankets; The snowflakes that melted on her lashes, and the strong aroma of coffee and burning logs wading in the crisp cold air.
Looking back now, it all felt too good to be true again. Just like how her freedom from the Van Der Linde camp felt non-existent, as of now. As Anna flung the axe down, splitting the wood in half, she could sense the beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. She wiped them away with her bare arm, sticking to her skin like insects on a hot summer's day. And just to think that it wouldn't be long before summer was to finally make its appearance.
The thought made Anna groan internally as she left the axe aside and moved on to help Mr Pearson prepare tonight's supper.
"Afternoon, Miss Thornhill." The voice belonging to a certain elder rang in the girl's ears.
Anna stopped in her tracks as she turned her attention to the lady, smiling softly. "Afternoon to you too, Miss Grimshaw."
"I hope that shirt is okay on you." She said, observing the baby pink blouse that Anna was currently attired in.
"It's perfect." The girl exclaimed, for she was relieved to finally have a change of fresh clean clothes, devoid of her own blood, sweat and tears. "Thank you again for letting me borrow it."
"What's mine is yours, Miss." She told her kindly, the two of them parting ways shortly after.
Anna rinsed her hands in a nearby basin before she proceeded to cut the vegetables that had been laid for her on the counter. One after another, she would carefully slice them up into thin pieces. There were fleeting moments in which Anna would snatch the opportunity to glance over at Pearson (who stood at a nearby table), watching as he diced a pair of pork loins. He then proceeded to place the meat in the stew pot, stirring and practically dosing it with salt. A lot of salt.
"Hey," Anna immediately dropped the knife in her hand as it clattered against the board, making her way over to the camp's chef. "Don't you think that's a bit too much?"
