A relentless, needle-like drizzle turned the already freezing winter into a bone-chilling misery, slicking the jagged mountain paths into death traps. Richie had draped a heavy waterproof tarp over his chassis—originally intended to mask the glow of the Energy Crystals, it now served as a meager bulwark against the biting wind and the freezing rain.
The tarp was small, forcing the three of them into a cramped, shivering huddle. Suddenly, Richie’s foot slipped on a patch of black ice. He stumbled, his knee hitting the rock with a metallic clang. Only Merlin’s lightning-fast reflexes saved him from a terminal plunge; she snatched his armored arm before he could tumble into the abyss.
Merlin scanned their backtrail for ghosts of the enemy before looking at the path ahead. She carefully lowered Randy from her shoulder.
"We need to find cover for the night," she said, her voice strained by the altitude and the cold. "The sun is failing. We won't survive another mile in this."
Randy nodded and set to work. Finding a safe harbor was her domain. Without the massive weight of Magitech Armor, her footsteps were ghosts in the snow, leaving no crushed branches or deep prints for Varedin scouts to follow. More importantly, her psionic perception radiated outward, a twenty-meter radius of mental sight that could pierce the gloom to find hidden caves or hollows.
Ignoring the rain that soaked her to the bone, Randy darted between the crags. Fifteen minutes later, she returned, her hair plastered to her skull but a spark of success in her eyes. She had found a grotto.
The entrance was a narrow, horizontal fissure masked by a curtain of frozen brush. One had to crawl in sideways, but the interior was surprisingly deep, winding back into the warm heart of the mountain.
The Magitech suits were too massive for the passage. Richie and Merlin were forced to abandon their machines outside, camouflaging them with piles of pine boughs and heavy stones to break up their metallic silhouettes.
By the time Richie scrambled into the dry dark of the cave, a leaden lethargy had settled into his marrow. His footsteps were uncoordinated, and a nauseating pressure hammered at his chest. But the worst part was the internal frost—a jagged, freezing current of foreign Aura that snaked through his veins, pooling around his heart and turning every breath into a struggle for air.
He collapsed onto the first patch of dry earth he reached, his consciousness already fraying.
"Don't lie on the bare stone; the cold will leach the life from you," Randy warned. She shook the sleet from the tarp and spread it over the rock. It was damp and smelled of ozone, but it was far better than the freezing shale.
Richie didn't have the strength to answer. He crawled onto the tarp and fell into a dead, heavy sleep before his head even hit the ground.
Randy sat beside him, her brow etched with worry. She pressed her palm to his chest—her third psionic scan since the battle. Merlin joined her, kneeling to place her own hand over Richie’s heart. Though she lacked Randy’s mental sight, she was a veteran Knight; she knew the feeling of a broken spirit.
The diagnosis was grim.
"This is bad," Merlin murmured. "He's a novice, Randy. His system isn't tempered for this. You should have left at least one piece of chest plating on his suit to buffer the shock."
Randy remained silent, her jaw tight. She couldn't defend herself. It wasn't that she had forgotten the risks; she simply hadn't believed a single plate would make a difference. When they had chosen the mountains, she had mentally written off their survival.
Merlin sighed, realizing the futility of blame. She had been the one they saved, after all. "Actually, there might be a path forward," she said, searching for a tactical advantage. "If the boy can weather this, the foreign Aura will act as a whetstone. It will temper his own energy in ways years of training couldn't."
"The question is *if* he survives the night," Randy whispered.
The silence in the cave became an oppressive weight. After a long moment, Randy gave Merlin a gentle nudge. "Could you... give us a moment? I need to try something."
She had recalled a whispered rumor from the garrison—a theory that Richie’s Discipline involved a form of dual cultivation, a primitive but potent method of harmonizing Aura through physical intimacy. In his current state, his lungs were choked by a Varedin’s toxic energy; he needed a catalyst to flush the rot out, and this might be the only way.
Merlin looked at Randy. She had heard the same rumors, and she wasn't blind. When the rain had forced them to huddle under the tarp, the jagged tear in Randy's trousers had been impossible to ignore.
"You're truly going to do it?" Merlin asked softly.
Randy’s face was a mask of stoic resolve. Merlin knew that once the Adjutant set her mind, she was immovable. She was the most reserved member of the 105th, a creature of logic and machines, but her stubbornness was legendary. It was that same fire that had driven her into the mountains on a suicide mission.
Then Merlin looked at herself. If these two hadn't arrived, she would be a corpse or worse. In this age of total war, 'chivalry' was a lie told to children; Knights were symbols of organized slaughter. If captured, she would have been a prize for the Varedin ranks, broken and discarded like a used tool.
As she hesitated, the sleeping Richie groaned, clutching his chest in a spasm of pain. His throat worked as he swallowed, a thin line of sweat beading on his pale brow.
Merlin let out a heavy breath. She reached out and caught Randy’s wrist. "It's no use. You're a Psion; your energy is mental, not physical. You can't catalyze his Aura."
She began to undo the heavy buttons of her tunic. "They risked everything to save me. Richie was broken for my sake. I won't carry that debt into the next life."
She gave Randy a small, sad smile and a playful wink that didn't reach her eyes. "Would you mind standing watch at the entrance?"
Randy’s face turned a violent scarlet as she scrambled to her feet, fleeing toward the fissure.
"Don't go too far," Merlin called after her. "The Varedin are still out there."
Merlin stepped out of her heavy trousers. Despite her words, her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Her long, elegant legs, which had never faltered before a charging Iron Crusader, were now shaking like a novice's. She didn't strip entirely; she left her tunic draped over her shoulders, unbuttoned and open.
She helped Richie out of his trousers. Her trembling hand brushed against the heavy bulge in his crotch. The member within was soft, coiled like a dormant snake against his thigh. She peeled back the fabric, exposing his length. Even in repose, he was substantial.
She knew she had to rouse him. She parted his legs and sat between them, one hand carefully cupping his heavy testicles while the other wrapped around the soft shaft, beginning a slow, rhythmic stroking.
Suddenly, she wrinkled her nose. A faint, musky scent drifted up—the smell of sweat, oil, and battle. It was unavoidable; Richie hadn't been out of his suit for days. And after his encounter with Randy, there had been no chance for a proper cleaning.
Merlin realized she was no better. There were no baths in the high peaks. She pulled a small towel and a flask of water from her pack, carefully wiping down Richie’s member—the testicles first, then the shaft, her movements precise and clinical.
She poured more water and peeled back his foreskin. The head was a sensitive, deep violet; as the damp towel brushed against the exposed glans, it reacted instantly. Blood engorged the tissue, the shaft hardening into a thick, pulsing rod of iron that throbbed with a life of its own.
*Mother of Mercy,* Merlin thought, her eyes widening. Her hand could barely encircle the massive, pulsing shaft. She couldn't imagine how her own narrow passage would survive such an intrusion. Her pulse tripled, fear mingling with a sudden, sharp spike of primal anticipation.
The fear made her hesitate. She wiped the head again and again with the towel, her other hand mindlessly kneading his testicles, stalling for time.
Richie, no matter how deep his lethargy, was awake now. He opened his eyes, though the cave was a hazy blur. The fatigue still clung to him, but the touch was divine.
"That feels... incredible," he murmured, his eyes half-closed. He had known the tenderness of Isabella and the hunger of Lina, but this felt different—it felt like a sanctuary. "Randy... could you... take it in your mouth?"
His voice was a low rasp, but it echoed in the silence. Both Merlin and the hiding Randy heard it with crystalline clarity. Randy felt a surge of indignation and shame. *That boy... Merlin will think I've corrupted him...* Her ears burned with a feverish heat.
Merlin, as expected, assumed the worst of Randy’s habits, but she had no time for judgment. She hesitated for a heartbeat before lowering her head. She gave the head of his cock a tentative sniff; the water had done its work. She opened her mouth and took the crown between her lips.
She was clumsy, her movements dictated by instinct rather than experience, but it was a language she learned quickly. She found a rhythm, occasionally looking up to gauge Richie’s reaction. Each time she did, her long, silken hair brushed against his shaft, adding a delicate, maddening friction.
Emboldened, she flicked her tongue over the slit at the tip, then swirled around the sensitive, flared ridge of the glans. Richie closed his eyes, lost in the sensation. He still believed it was Randy; she had never given him such a gift before, so he had no reason to doubt.
In terms of pure technique, it was far more subtle than Lina’s practiced oral mastery. If Lina was a five-course feast of lust, this was a delicate, forbidden snack—but Richie found he preferred the snack. The feast was too demanding; this was something he could drown in. He especially loved the way her hair teased his skin.
Suddenly, a flare of genuine desire roared through his body, burning away the lethargy. "Randy... can you... get on top?"
He still hadn't figured it out.
Merlin didn't correct him. She sat up, preparing to straddle him, but paused. If he thought she was Randy, perhaps that was for the best. It would save them both the ruin of an awkward morning.
She used the towel and a bit of water to quickly clean her own core. The realization that she was about to surrender her virtue sent her mind into a whirlwind of nerves and a strange, budding heat. To hide her face, she turned around, presenting her back to him.
She crouched over him, one hand guiding his shaft while the other parted her thick, plush labia. Merlin had always been self-conscious about her body. Her mound was prominent, her labia full and heavy, and her hair grew in a thick, dark forest. Back in the Academy, some girls had caught a glimpse of her in the showers and whispered that such features were the mark of an insatiable, sinful nature. Since then, she had hidden herself behind thick trousers even in the heat of summer.
She closed her eyes and lowered her hips.
There was none of the agonizing pain she had been promised. There was a dull, heavy ache, yes, but it was quickly eclipsed by a feeling of immense, stretching fullness. She didn't dare seat herself fully; her legs were shaking too hard.
A wave of indescribable pleasure began to radiate from her core. Suddenly, she flushed with a new shame as she realized the cave was echoing with her own soft moans—"Mmm... ah... ah..."—sounds she hadn't given her permission to make.
Before she could regain her composure, she felt a hand press down on her thigh while the other cupped her crotch from below, a finger flicking expertly against her clitoris.
Merlin let out a sharp cry. Her legs gave out completely, and Richie’s hand forced her hips down, pulling her down with a ruthless strength that buried his length to the hilt. The flared head of his cock bottomed out against her cervix with a jarring, beautiful thud.
At that moment, Richie knew. This was not Randy. There was no third woman in the cave. He gave her firm, musky thigh a gentle squeeze—this was the powerful, conditioned limb of a Knight. Rosa, Lina, and the sisters all had legs like this. But Merlin’s skin was softer, more delicate, as if it were spun from silk.
Richie opened his eyes. He saw Merlin straddling him, her hips beginning to move in a slow, instinctive rhythm. Her long, elegant legs were splayed wide, the muscles in her thighs and buttocks twitching with effort. Her skin was a pale, translucent cream in the dim light.
Her rear was large—the lush, succulent kind. Female Knights often possessed firm, rounded buttocks from the rigors of the suit, and Merlin was no exception. Richie gave them a squeeze; through the thick layers of flesh, he could feel the iron-hard muscle beneath. But she was softer than the others, her skin yielding to his touch and leaving pale finger-marks in its wake.
She was the perfect fusion of a Knight’s power and a woman’s grace. Richie found himself more intoxicated by her form than the act itself. It wasn't as explosive as being with Lina, but it was far more profound.
Merlin’s passage was tight—a match for Rosa’s or the sisters’—but it lacked the dizzying complexity of Rosa’s 'many gates'. And unlike Randy, who was always a flooded mess, Merlin was more restrained. But this tender, emotional connection held Richie in a way that pure lust never could.
The cave was filled with Merlin’s melodic moans. Unlike Randy, she made no effort to be silent. She was exploring these new sensations, following her instincts. Though Richie had initially controlled the rhythm with his hands on her thighs, she soon found her own pace. Her strength was far beyond his, and once she found her rhythm, she was a force of nature.
"Deeper... ah... deeper... mmm... yes...!"
Her voice, usually so measured and calm, was now a chorus of soft, desperate commands. With her back to him, her face was hidden, but her body told the story of her conflict—the drowning pleasure battling against a deep, primal shame. She wondered if the old Academy rumors were true—that her body truly was forged for sin. The thought made her want to weep, yet she couldn't stop her hips from grinding against him.
"Ah...!"
Merlin let out a sharp gasp, her body tensing. Just as she was spiraling toward her peak, she felt a finger slide into her anus. She tried to reach back, but the sudden, overwhelming stimulation made her mind go blank. Her strength vanished, and she collapsed forward against his chest.
Richie groaned in response. He had been curious; seeing her back reminded him of the forbidden books he’d stolen as a boy. He had wondered what Merlin would feel like there.
Now he knew. And he discovered a secret about her... Merlin was a rare treasure, a woman whose most sensitive points were hidden in that forbidden dark. The moment he entered her, her entire passage clamped down around his cock with a strength that rivaled Lina’s 'vault-lock' technique.
The 'home-cooked meal' of their lovemaking had suddenly turned into a gourmet feast. Richie hauled himself up, kneeling behind her to drive into her with everything he had. He could feel her body go limp; the rhythm was entirely his now.
He began a series of deep, punishing thrusts, pulling out until only the glans remained before slamming back in. His fingers remained active, twisting and probing within her anus while his other hand reached around to vibrate against her clitoris.
Her clitoris was large—a hard, swollen nub of desire. Richie had been with many women, but never one like this. He had heard that a large clitoris was a sign of a high libido. Along with the thick forest of hair that brushed against his wrist, it was a classic 'vixen's' body. He found it hilarious that the gentle, pure Merlin possessed the constitution of a legendary harlot.
But he didn't dwell on the thought. He was too lost in the sensation. Merlin’s internal muscles were grinding against him like a millstone, her passage contracting and pulsing around his shaft in a desperate, crushing intensity. And then, that familiar, frustrating pressure returned—the surge of pleasure that he couldn't quite release.
"Ah—!"
Merlin’s scream echoed through the cave. She felt him swell even further within her, filling her to the point of bursting. The head of his cock became searingly hot, and she couldn't take any more. Her body went rigid, her legs locking as she spiraled into a long, agonizingly beautiful climax that rivaled Lina’s in its raw power.
A flood of thick, creamy essence erupted from her, drenching them both. At that same moment, a massive wave of life energy surged into Richie. If the sisters' energy was like fine wine, Merlin’s was like honey—thick, sweet, and incredibly potent. It raced through his system, scouring away the last traces of the Varedin’s rot.
Richie wanted to continue, but with a soft *pop*, his member slid out. Merlin had pulled away. She could feel the change in him. She crawled forward a few steps, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her first climax, before forcing herself to stand.
She knew that if she stayed, Richie would keep her there all night. The pleasure would be seared into her soul, and the 'vixen' within her would take control of her will. She would either become a slave to his massive member or become an insatiable monster like Lina. Both fates terrified her.
Ignoring Richie’s wounded look and the sight of his still-erect manhood, she pulled on her trousers and buttoned her tunic. She didn't even dare clean herself in front of him, fearing it would provoke him further.
"Your injuries seem to have healed," she said, her voice returning to its usual measured pace as if she hadn't just been screaming in ecstasy under him moments ago. "I didn't think that 'technique' would actually work."
"In the future... can we...?" Richie stammered, his hand reaching for her.
Merlin flushed, giving him a sharp look. She wanted to refuse, but her heart wouldn't let her. "Everything in moderation. If you're a good boy, I might consider it."
Seeing him still standing there with his cock out, she felt a wave of panic. "Put your trousers on!" she commanded before fleeing to the back of the cave.
Randy was there. When Merlin burst in, Randy’s hand was... well, she was occupied. The two women shared a moment of excruciating silence before Merlin gave a small, weary laugh. She gestured to her head and then her stomach. "It really is... exhausting."
Though she spoke softly, the words echoed. Richie heard them too. He felt a wave of humiliation, realizing that the entire squad probably knew exactly what he’d been up to with the women.
Their flight continued for another three days before they finally broke out of the mountains. The journey was relatively smooth; Richie had recovered most of his strength, and the pace was no longer a burden. Every evening, however, they would stop to rest. A silent understanding had formed among them.
During these breaks, Richie would inevitably corner Merlin, begging for her favors. She usually indulged him, but with a strict condition: once she reached her climax, it was over. "Moderation is key," she would say. "A man must control himself; only children are slaves to their whims."
Richie was perfectly happy to be a child if it meant more time with her. But he knew she was as stubborn as Randy—perhaps more so. So he began to look for loopholes. He knew Merlin wouldn't break her word, so he would deliberately move with agonizing slowness. Every time she neared the edge, he would stop. He would keep himself buried inside her for the entire night, denying her the release that would end the session.
It drove Merlin mad, yet she couldn't truly be angry. Deep down, she loved the feeling of being filled. Every morning, when he finally withdrew, she felt a hollow ache, wondering if it was her 'sinful nature' crying out for him.
Richie didn't neglect Randy, either. After the first night when Merlin’s words had trapped him in her for hours, he learned to visit Randy first. She was easy to satisfy, and once she was drifting in the afterglow, he would spend the rest of the night with Merlin.
It was a week of decadence and tenderness. Had they not needed a lookout at all times, the three of them might have simply collapsed into a single, tangled heap.
Finally, they reached the main roads. On the afternoon of the fourth day, they encountered a patrol. Richie and Randy’s report was delivered just in time; two Knight Corps from the front lines were rushed to Glasslovar, which was now under high alert.
After a brief interrogation to verify their identities, the way was cleared. Glasslovar soon loomed on the horizon. Seeing the city he knew so well, Richie felt a surge of unexpected emotion—the wisdom of those who have narrowly escaped death. You only truly appreciate what you have when you've almost lost it.
"Marry me," Richie whispered, pulling up beside Merlin’s suit.
Inside the cockpit, Merlin nearly jumped. She thought she was hallucinating.
"Will you marry me?" Richie asked again. He had been with many women, but Merlin was the only one who made him feel... whole.
"Is this a proposal?" Merlin laughed, and even Randy, perched on her shoulder, couldn't help but giggle.
Richie’s face turned bright red. He realized how foolish he looked, proposing in front of another woman he’d also slept with. They finished the journey to the camp in a thick, awkward silence.
The entire squad was there, waiting. They had been prepared, and thanks to Nora’s early warning, they had been fully armed when the Varedin hit. The enemy hadn't been so lucky; though they had the numbers, half of them had been resting, and their suits were low on energy. They had been caught off guard.
With their mission exposed and their supply line shattered, the Varedin's operation was a failure. Their pursuit of Calli’s squad had been nothing more than a final act of spite.
The moment Richie returned, he was greeted with a hero's welcome. Even the three sisters were more civil, their old hatred replaced by a wary respect. Captain Calli herself seemed a degree warmer than usual.
Three medals were laid out on the table.
"These are yours. Vice-Captain Merlin, for your courage in holding the line for your comrades, you are awarded the Medal of Valor."
Merlin saluted, stepped forward to receive the bronze medal, and returned to the line.
"Adjutant Randy, for your timely report and your initiative in the rescue mission, you are awarded the First-Class Medal of Honor."
Randy followed suit. Richie knew it was his turn. The medals—one bronze and two silver—were clearly ranked. He had expected the bronze, given he was just a subordinate, but it had gone to Merlin, the highest-ranking and most vital member.
"Third-Class Sergeant Richie, for your dedication in protecting your superior, ensuring the timely delivery of the report, and assisting in the rescue, you are awarded the First-Class Medal of Honor."
Richie didn't falter. He saluted as he had seen the others do and stepped forward. As Captain Calli pinned the silver medal to his chest, he felt a sudden, profound understanding of a Knight's pursuit of glory. He was finally a Knight in truth, if not yet in title.
"Furthermore, for your outstanding performance and your contribution to the defense, you are promoted one rank."
Richie was stunned. Promotions and medals rarely came together in the military. But he didn't feel particularly jubilant. To a Knight, rank was easy to come by—it followed strength. Only someone like the 'juice-squeezer' Lina had a rank that didn't match her power.
"Go home for now," Lady Dana said, her voice unusually soft. "Your parents must be worried sick. You have three days of leave."
Standing before his front door, Richie found he lacked the courage to knock. He reached for his key, then hesitated again, finally settling for a simple knock.
Rapid footsteps sounded within, and the door swung open. Seeing the red, swollen eyes of his mother, Richie felt a lump form in his throat.
"Son! Where have you been? Why were you gone so long? I went to the inquiry office every day, and they just told me you were on a 'mission'... what mission? You're not a soldier!"
His mother’s frantic fussing filled him with warmth. "I'm fine, Mom. See? I just went on a patrol with the Knights. It was perfectly safe."
His mother looked him over, noticing he looked a bit thinner but was otherwise unharmed. Then her face hardened. "I won't let you go back to that camp. Tomorrow... no, today, I'm going to see the Principal and have him find you a different job."
"Mom—!" Richie protested. "Don't you think I've suffered enough? There’s something I never told you. At the hospital, a group of men threatened me. They were going to inject me with infected blood so I'd die without a trace. If I hadn't made a scene, I'd be dead."
The half-truth terrified her into silence. She buried her face in her hands. "It's all my fault... my fault..."
"It's fine now," Richie said, trying to soften the blow. "Where else could I be safer than with the Knights? I get plenty to eat—and you know I'm growing. Plus, no one dares touch me when I'm with them."
Aunt Ling, who had been watching from the side, stepped in to help. "Enough now. He's home and he's safe. Sister, you should send word to his father in the army. If he’s distracted by worry, something might actually happen to him. You don't want that."
It was a graceful exit. Richie’s mother jumped up. "Right! I'll do that immediately. And then I'll buy something special for dinner."
"Don't worry about the cost, Mom," Richie added, seizing the opportunity to explain his new income. "I received a reward for my work, and I'll be getting a regular salary from now on."
"Really?" His mother was instantly intrigued. "How much? How much was the reward, and what's the salary?"
Richie was speechless at her sudden shift. He had planned to tell her everything, but seeing her vanity flare up, he decided to hold back. "The reward was about three hundred crowns, and my salary is ten crowns a month." He cut the actual numbers by two-thirds.
His mother was more than satisfied. "Not bad. Your father took ten years to reach that salary."
Richie realized he had still said too much. He hadn't known his father's pay was so low. But he also understood his mother’s pride. She had raised a family of four on a soldier's meager pay while trying to keep him from feeling ashamed among his peers. The hard years had left their mark.
Then he thought of Isabella. She had no income and a house full of siblings to feed.
"I need to head out for a bit. I have some business at the school."
He hadn't seen Isabella in over a month. As he ran toward the school, he noticed the atmosphere in the city had changed. Many roads were barricaded, guarded by soldiers in stiff uniforms.
These were Wartime Emergency Corridors. Lady Dana had mentioned them—routes kept clear for military transport. Their presence meant war was on the doorstep. At the end of his own street, a checkpoint had been established. A crowd was gathered at the red-and-white barrier, waiting for the half-hourly window to pass.
Richie didn't wait. He ducked under the barrier. The soldiers didn't stop him. His red uniform was impossible to miss; as a squire, he outranked most of the men there. According to regulations, they were supposed to salute him, but they settled for looking the other way.
A kilometer later, he was stopped by a squad of Military Police. They were more professional, but still respectful of his red uniform. Richie showed his ID—which fortunately didn't list his specific duties—and was let through. The tension in the air was thick.
The school gates were barred and reinforced with sandbags. It looked like it would be closed for a long time. Richie stood there, stunned, before heading to Isabella's house.
He heard the chaos of children playing before he even reached the door. He used his key and walked in through the kitchen. Isabella and the children were overjoyed to see him.
"Big brother! You're back!" "Did you bring us anything to eat?" "Take us out to play!"
The younger ones swarmed his legs.
"It's been a month," Isabella said, her eyes welling with tears. "I thought something happened to you."
"I'm fine. I'm with the Knights; where could be safer?" Richie comforted her before asking, "Why is the school closed? Will it stay that way?"
Isabella realized he was out of the loop. "I've been so worried. A notice came out a few days ago. They say the city is going to become a battlefield. The civilians are being evacuated, and the school is moving to the rear."
Richie felt a chill. His mother and Aunt Ling clearly hadn't heard, or they were refusing to leave.
"Where are you going?"
"Morena first, then they'll split us up to other cities," Isabella said. "But... I want to stay with you."
Richie was touched, but he knew he couldn't leave. "I want to be with you too, but it's complicated. Have you talked to anyone else?"
"Caroline told me to come with them," she replied.
"With her family, or the Rose Society?" Richie asked. Caroline was the class president and one of the leaders of their little circle.
Isabella flushed. She knew the boys called them the Rose Society. But her face quickly went pale. She had once been proud, but now... fortunately, Richie hadn't talked, and the thugs who used to harass her had vanished. Still, she felt she couldn't hold her head up around the others.
"Don't worry," Richie said, noticing her distress. "I brought some money. It should be enough to keep you going for a while."
Isabella shook her head, stepping back. "No, really. Without those thugs, our rations are enough."
Richie didn't believe her. He knew how meager the rations were. His own family of four, mostly women, struggled to get by on them. "Take it," he insisted. "It's the least I can do."