Iron Rations

Yule Connor- Breakfast

5 years have passed but I still could not stop thinking about the time I got lost in the woods and got rescued by a boy with a falcon.

I know I shouldn't be surprised about the falcon part. In Werravinn, there are only three ways to eat: to grow the food, to work for the food or to hunt the food. Working for the food means getting employed by someone, which is a rare thing in a poor country. I go for the grow part, taking care of chickens and tending to a blueberry bush on the side of the small house. I guess the boy chose the hunt part. Often, if people didn't have a gun for hunting, they'd choose an animal, like a bird or a dog, as a replacement. I guess the falcon is used for hunting.

What surprised me is the boy. Often, people who rescue you look tired from all the obstacles they faced trying to get to you. But the boy...he looked calm and quiet, like he was used to having to rescue little girls all the time.

I turned to the clock near my bed groggily. In a country at war, having your own clock is a luxury most can't afford, since once you have money; you either spend it on food or other personal necessities. But this clock doesn't mean my family is rich. To be honest, this clock has been in the family for three generations now, won by my grandmother in some contest.

The clock's clear glass surface said its 6:00 in the morning. That's the time hunters usually go into the woods, though I've seen some go earlier.

After a trip to the bathroom and getting dressed for the day, I went down the stairs and into the kitchen. I always liked the kitchen. It was yellow and had lots of windows and flower prints, and it smelled like fresh bread and butter, the exact opposite of gunpowder and rotting corpses from the war. My twin brother, James, said the kitchen looked girly. Id' shot back at him it looked peaceful.

Speaking of James, he was sitting on top of the kitchen table; staring at me with that weird stare he always gives people, the kind which makes you feel self-conscious.

"What?" I snarled at him. "And get off the table, I just polished it yesterday."

James smirked, but I guess something about the stare I gave him made him hop off the table and settle into one of the squashy seats.

I turned to the cabinets and opened them. I pulled out last night's leftovers, half a loaf of bread and an apple, and put them on the table.

I turned to my twin, who simply stared back. He looked like me if I turned to a boy. Shoulder-length reddish-gold hair. Brown eyes. But there was something about James's eyes which seem to unnerve people, as though he could see every wrong thing they've done. I think that's why most people are crept out by him.

James feigned a laugh. "That's a bountiful breakfast."

I glared at him. "If you went to work yesterday, we would have milk to go along with it."

Ever since our parents died, we were left to thrive by our own. That means work. While I take care of the blueberry bush and the chickens, James works as a sort of apprentice in a nearby printing shop ran by our neighbor, some guy everyone calls Mr. Will because some guy I don't know said he resembles some old war sergeant, a guy named Joe Willis.

James glared back at me. "Oh c'mon! There was a snowstorm yesterday!"

I stared hard at my brother, before flicking away. I could never outstare those creepy eyes. I turned back to him, and saw his gaze became softer. Great, he's pleading now.

"Fine," I said. "Just go to work today, all right?"

He nodded with a grin. "Okay. You're the best twin sister ever, Yule."

He flashed me a toothy smile before gobbling down half of the bread.

 I sat down beside him and got the apple. As I toyed with it, I wondered what could go along with the fruit in my hand. Cheese, maybe? Oranges? Bread is okay, but James is already working his way to finishing it. Nothing about his face says he feels like sharing.