[ WP ] You are what you eat .

The calm serenity of Faith's meditations were interrupted by the sensation of having a brace of dead hares being dumped into her lap, their beady black eyes staring up at her with a betrayed expression. Their necks had been snapped, their fur soft on her legs. She was not amused. 
 
 Flint shrugged unapologetically and moved over to his food bag, pulling out a small sack of flour and a canteen of boiled water. 
 
 `` Get skinning, kid.'' 
 
 Faith gave him a withering glare that would have humbled even the fiercest of her grandfather's guards, her dark eyes burning bright with a raging inner fire. He was unfazed. 
 
 `` What's the matter, kid, never gotten you're hands dirty? Too highborn for menial work?'' 
 
 Faith tossed her head, and flipped her long white hair over her shoulder. `` Do n't call me that; I'm older than you, you know.'' 
 
 Flint laughed once, putting a small frying pan onto the coals and mixing a quantity of the flour and water together. `` But not wiser. And you, kid, are as green as spring grass dribbling out of a newborn lamb's ass. Just the way it works. Here, give me those.'' 
 
 Flint took the hares from Faith and skinned and gutted them quickly, a series of small cuts around the legs and tail and he peeled the skins off in one smooth motion. A slight incision through the belly and he took out the organs, tossing them aside for burial or scavengers. Faith watched with curiosity, her eyes taking in every part of the task. She gestured to the knife he was using, a small practical thing with a four inch blade. 
 
 `` What does that say, the writing on the steel? It's not English as far as I can tell.'' 
 
 Hilary Flint nodded, wiping the knife clean and handing it to her. The handle was dark stained maple, its wood checkered to improve one's grip. Written in a curling script were the words. *'Je me souviens.'* 
 
 `` It's French,'' Flint answered. `` My father's mother came from a land far to the Northeast that spoke it. It's a two edged expression. It means: *I remember. *'' 
 
 `` I remember those who have done me right...'' Faith murmured. 
 
 `` And I remember those who have done me wrong,'' Flint echoed, a hint of malice in his voice. `` Us humans may have short lives, but we have long memories. We rarely forget, and even rarer do we forgive.''
