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He had four more on a string, which he hung on a low branch. When the fish were ready he unrolled a couple of leather pieces to serve as plates. Selena wondered if he enjoyed picking the meat off the fish as much as she did. She stole a glance at his big fingers struggling to work it out from between the tiny bones. Probably not. Oh well, she thought smugly. You’ve got to have some challenge in life.
                Between the lovely weather and their civil conversation by the stream, Selena almost felt normal, but every time she relaxed, her stress reasserted itself. These fears would not be ignored. It was like several drummers playing, with one of them loudly off beat. She could not give in to her fight or flight instincts. Words were all she had left. Could he be reasoned with?
                “You said the other day that we needed a leatherworker,” Selena reminded him carefully as they ate.
                “Yes.”
                “Who’s ‘we’?”
                “Regular group of people. Most young, in their twenties and thirties. Got a couple in their forties. Only eleven of us, not counting the kids I mentioned. Seven men including me. Four women. Every one skilled.”
                “Who runs this place?” Selena inquired as casually as possible. She had a feeling she knew the answer.
                “Everyone. Group decisions.”
    Why do I find that hard to believe? Selena wondered grimly.
                “We’re free to make our own choices, unless it has an impact on the others,” he continued. “If it’s going to cause difficulty for anyone else, then we have to come to the best agreement we can.”
                “When does this start applying to me?” Selena blurted.
                He ignored that, so she asked another question, trying to restore normalcy to the conversation.
                “What are your goals?”
                “Simple. We want to see that everyone’s needs are met. See that we can defend ourselves. Since I’m out a lot, one of my jobs is to bring in new people. Recruitment.”
                Selena couldn’t suppress a guffaw. “ Recruitment? Is that what this is? Because I thought it was kidnapping. Dragging women off against their will and such.”
                “This is not … common,” he said, scratching the back of his neck absently.
                Selena stole a glance at him. Maybe she could talk her way out of this.
                “Why me?” she asked.
                He lifted his gaze to her before answering, “You wouldn’t come willingly and it seems to me you’ve been out there alone a long time. You’ve done okay for yourself so far, which is a miracle as far as I can tell; with you running around recklessly and leaving trails so obvious a boy scout could follow. Folks don’t get a lot of second chances when they’re out on their own and something bad happens. Safety in numbers.”
                “Maybe for you.”
                Dan didn’t respond but went on. “Our leatherworker died recently. Got sick. He was up there in years. In his sixties. None of us really know the ins and outs of the trade, and it’s obvious you’re better with leather than anything else I’ve seen you do.” Selena bristled at the insult. Was that a faint hint of amusement playing around his mouth? It was gone in an instant. Now he fixed her with that piercing gaze of his and continued, “When you get there, you may start to remember that people aren’t solitary animals. But if you keep this up, you’ll wind up dead. Or crazy, and then dead. Waste is stupid.”
                “And what if I’m not better off with your people, Dan?” She asked, failing to keep the spite out of her voice and making herself meet his stare. Who is he to think he knows what’s best for