India sat on the bare ground between Theuderic and Marcion. The others were eating heartily, and she was hungry, too. She had a chunk of greasy meat in one hand, a crust of stale bread in the other, and a wooden cup of sour ale on the ground beside her. It was a wonderful, restorative feast. When she thought of the way she used to pick at her plain, non-fat yogurt and sip her decaffeinated coffee, she felt like laughing out loud. She had just survived two incredible days, she felt more alive than she had ever felt before, and she cared not at all if her present diet would be considered unhealthy by twentieth-century standards. Enormously grateful for the food, she swallowed the last bite of her meat and licked her fingers as Marcion was doing to his. “Why did you build the shelters?” she asked Marcion. “We had none in the last place we stopped.” “Because we’ll be here for two or three nights,” he replied. When she looked at Theuderic for confirmation of this, he nodded. “I won’t divide my band,”
