âYouâreâŠdifferent. Iâve never met a girl like you.â
She stares at him, hands stilling over her sword. âWhat?â
âAll the girls in my village are so boring,â he says. âSo focused on finding husbands that they donât bother learning about the world.â
âGirls in your village arenât allowed to own property or vote,â she says, somewhat incredulous.
He winces at her tone. Need she be so harsh? âWellâŠitâs not like theyâve ever needed to, weâre a very progressive village and I always vote in favor of their needs. Youâre not like that though, you fight for your rights yourself.â
âThey are fighting for their rights,â she says. She sets down her sharpening stone, a frown stretching across her face. âNo voting, no property, no wages of their own to purchase necessities. Besides finding a kind husband, what else do you think they can do to find a good future?â
âTh-they could leave,â he says. He did not expect the conversation to go this way. He expected her to blush like she had when he complimented her sword skills. He finds himself oddly defensive. âThe men in my village arenât slavers. The girls can leave any time.â
She snorts. âOn foot? Your village is a hard, three day ride from the nearest city and thatâs by horseback. And, even if they made it, what skills do they have? What references? The risk is too high for any woman to leave, thatâs as good as trapping them. The fact that it takes me holding a sword for your opinion of women to change just shows how small-minded you are.â
 He bristles, unable to refute her. âLook, I was just trying to pay you a compliment! Thereâs no need to attack me.â
âTrust me,â she says, standing when he moves to loom over her. Theyâre of near equal height and, if he was trying to intimidate her, he fails. âYouâll know it when Iâm attacking you. This isnât it.â
He doesnât seem to hear her, flustered to be seeing her eye-to-eye. âFurthermore, I think Iâd know what sort of girls I grew up with! Theyâre timid and lack a desire to explore the world.â
âThe world you created for them doesnât take long to explore,â she says. Her sword is bare in her hand. âMarry or descend into poverty. Bear an heir or be cast into poverty. Behave or be thrown into poverty. I was there for a week and figured it out. But,â she continues, looking him up and down, âmaybe I shouldnât be so quick to judge. After all, youâve lived there your whole life and you still havenât figured it out.â
He splutters. âThatâs notâthere are other optionsââ
âWhen the revolution is done,â she says, coldly, âand your people are forced to give women rights, see how many stay and how many leave. See how many suddenly discover their wander-lust. See how many end up like me.â
She leaves him there and stalks off to the edge of camp. She leaves him there with his mouth opening and closing, and heart pounding in his chest.
She leaves him there with the unsettling realization that he doesnât want the women in his village to end up being like her, so different and strong. Because, if they did, where would he be? Where would his home be?
Itâs an upsetting realization to have, mid-revolution. No chance to back out now.
