Bekka bounced into the house, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket hanging in the kitchen and jumping up onto the counter. Her mother, Eleanore, was cooking and shooed her away, but Bekka just grinned, digging into her apple with one of her smaller daggers. She was in a good mood. Having something to do - and someone to torture - usually did that to her.
"Bek - I swear," her mother started. It was a sentence she rarely, if ever, finished. Bekka rolled her eyes and held out a slice of apple pierced by the tip of the knife for the older woman. Eleanore took it and shook her head while she appraised her daughter. Bekka was a fine woman. Certainly not ladylike or feminine, but strong and capable. And smart.
"Whatcha cookin', Ma?" Bekka asked, leaning over toward the stove and banging her heels against the cupobards. She reached out to one of the pots to lift the lid, but her mother swatted at the back of her hand.
"Go wash your hands, girl," her mother scolded. "I don't know where you've been - and I don't wanna know!" she said pointedly, avoiding her daughter's gaze. Eleanore knew what her children did to keep the family afloat, but that didn't mean she had to know the details. Or approve. She set her mouth and went back to hovering over her stove while Bekka hopped down from the counter and sauntered off toward the well to wash up.
Bekka strolled out in the yard and perched on the edge of the well. Soon, she thought, maybe they could afford one of those pumps that they did in the city. The trinkets they'd already taken from the draenei would likely fetch a decent price at the trading house. Once they figured out what they were. Her brothers were still down in the stockade, keeping watch over the pair of draenei. She warned the older boys not to rough them up too badly. If, for some reason, they escaped, the draenei would surely retaliate. It was now a question of what to do with them.
Splashing water on her face and peeling off her gloves, Bekka muttered to herself about these things. Her brothers had sent her back to put Eleanore at ease, help with dinner, things like that. For the most part, her brothers recognized that she wasn't a "normal" girl - but sometimes, they still tried to make her do "normal" ladylike things.
After supper, they returned to the stockade, Bekka wrinkling her nose at the smell of the dank underground prisons. The draenei had been separated and chained in different cells, far from each other. There was speculation among the humans that the alien creatures had a mental connection, some sort of telepathy, where they could communicate silently. Bekka worried about the mage, too. She could have been magically unlocking her chains. Streig clapped his hand on her shoulder as if reading her mind, "We had a warlock enchant the locks. They're not going anywhere."
Bekka peered through the bars at the female, in her rich, velvety robes, now singed and caked in mud. Her hands were strung up over her head by the chains, pulling her tight against the stone wall. A faint sparkle caught Bekka's eye in the lantern's light. The mage had something around her neck. The draenei's eyes narrowed as she raised her chin defiantly, as if she felt Bekka looking at it. It was a gemstone, a perfect cut, hanging in a pendant from a solid ring around her long, graceful neck. It must be rare, Bekka thought. Mama might like to have something so beautiful - or maybe she could sell it for something even nicer. Bekka sneered right back and snorted to herself. She would do whatever she had to to get that gem.
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