Roar, Lioness. Roar

Market Town

They'd walked the better part of the day, leaving the jeep and whatever foodstuff was still inside Shelby's overturned vehicle for the urchins lurking about the crater. As the sun sets behind them, they enjoy the lowering temperature in the quiet moments when the darkening day becomes night. The women of The Waste retreat to their safe havens as the squids come out of their holes.

Latisha's feet tingle as they approach the walls of Market Town.

Disguised in robes provided by River and Dew, they walk in single file past a group of three jeeps. A group double the size is parked on the other side of the oasis. Latisha had quickly decided she'd rather deal with the smaller numbers if things went wrong. Akemi fights like a daughter of Phalanx. River moves like a proficient brawler. The rest of their column are more a liability than anything else. These aren't women she's trained alongside for seasons. She's not ready to bet her life on them.

Two burly slavers guard the jeeps, armed with heavy rifles. They laugh cruel laughs as they watch the group pass. Just when Latisha is ready to ignore them, one calls out.

"Hey, biggin, how about you throw back that hood and let us see your face?"

Trunk starts to do what they ask, but Dew grabs his arm and points ahead to Latisha. The huntress shakes her head no and the big man drops his hands to his sides.

"Ah, don't be like that!" The women laugh at an inside joke and find something else to occupy their time.

Once they join the queue for entrance into Market Town, Latisha drops back.

"Good job with him," she says to Dew. "He's naïve enough to get himself killed."

"I believe you mean thank you," River says from the rear.

Latisha glares at her for a long moment then nods, denying her urge to show the girl who leads this pack.

They are not cats, they are a means to returning home.

"Trunk, look at me. You are no longer a seedboy. You don't just let people give you orders."

"Then what am I?" His eyes are guileless, like a newborn freshly birthed into the world. "How do I know what I'm supposed to do if no one tells me?"

"You do what you want to do, big guy," Dew says, patting him on the back. "What do you like to do?"

"I don't know." Trunk looks out across the desert, lost.

"We'll help you figure it out, won't we Latisha?"

Latisha tries to read the woman's face, figure out her angle, but much like Trunk there is a distinct lack of deception. It is unsettling and Latisha wonder's how such people could have survived so long in The Waste. Life in the desert quickly devours those who don't learn to be quick of mind and body, those who can't outwit their opponents become prey for the flesh collectors of the world. Latisha studies Trunk. Built like a warrior, his mind is ignorant of the survivor's way. Try as she might, Latisha can't forget how he and Dimples took care of her in her darkest hours. She intends to do the same.

"Yes. We'll help you." For however long it takes to save Pride Home and be rid of them.

Akemi stands at the back of their group, scanning the ever-darkening horizon. She looks like the average middle-aged waster, though her skin is surprisingly smooth considering her age. Without an armband, no one can look at her and know she is a daughter of Phalanx. She doesn't even have their telltale accent. Like Akiva, Akemi can pass as a regular waster. Latisha wonders if that ability to blend in is just as dangerous as the red fury, the light, that burns inside them.