Chapter Text
Throughout her long life, Bronwyn found that the harder she tried, the worse the result was.
During her training for the war, one of the exercises was to balance an egg on a wooden spoon and walk a mile without it dropping. It was something only beginners did, as it was easy to understand and complete with minimal tears. The point of it was to learn how to walk gracefully and lightly. Everyone had to do it, even little Claire and Olive.
Emma and Millard both got it on the first try. Even through the forest, their practice with sneaking out at night together gave them an edge. It also helped that both of them had thin, lithe bodies, making the mile a cake walk.
Horace had complained about Emma’s cheeky smile when he was startled by a flock of birds suddenly flying out of a nearby tree, making him drop his egg on his first run. He ended up finishing it on his third try. Disgruntled that it took him so many tries, Horace proceeded to over succeed at the following exercises until they had to go into the gun range. Fiona and Hugh got it soon after, though Horace blabbered about how they probably cheated. Olive and Claire had more fun eating the eggs that Horace cooked rather than actually balancing them on a spoon.
Bronwyn and Enoch didn’t have as easy of a time.
Enoch tried for about five hours one day, dropping the egg and then immediately restarting, until noon turned to evening and he eventually threw a fit and gave up. Francesca tried to get him to finish it the next day, but he refused.
Bronwyn always knew that she had a problem with stealth. She was built denser than the others, and was good for strong arming the enemy. But for the type of missions that they needed her for, she needed to be quieter. More self-sufficient.
She carried that stick for two hours the first day. She went through thirteen different eggs and every time she saw the yolk seep into the pine-laden ground, she thought about how that could’ve been a life.
She felt that if she didn’t complete this task, she’d risk a life.
And so for the next three weeks, she went out there for hours until it was too dark to see anymore and until she was able to carry that egg across a mile. She’d always ended up tripping, or walking too unevenly. Almost every single time.
One day, she felt all of her motivation suddenly drain and drip right off of her, and she stood there for probably half an hour, staring at her egg and wondering when everything changed. Stuck on that moment that Jacob entered their lives. As if maybe, if he hadn’t shown up, they’d all be happy again.
After weeks of mounting frustration, dozens upon dozens of eggs and a hundred thousand steps, she finally got it. Later, Horace asked if she wanted him to cook it in celebration. Up until then, Bronwyn had been planning on trying to hatch a chick from the egg that she finished with, but her simmering resentment against the whole thing; against the war and the training and Francasca, who’d been nagging her the whole time; led her to say “yes.”
Horace cooked a lovely omelette and Bronwyn ate it, no longer worried about taking a life.