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Eight

I bit into an apple and watched as Brock sharpened his sword, this has been our routine now; eat, sleep hunt sharpened and customize our weapons. Days ago, Brock had found a shotgun devoid of bullets and had spent a day making hundreds of bullets, when he was done he had handed the gun to me.

The gun was holstered on my hip now and I scowled at his back, I hated guns, but the arrogant prick in front of me had harshly reminded me that I was a chicken when it came to swords, but I had stubbornly kept a sword on me much to his annoyance. Brock set his sword down and turned to me, his green eyes bore into mine.

“Training. Now!” he barked and I groaned, he insisted we didn’t eat anything this morning and now he was asking me to train?

“We haven’t………”

“Shut it” he snapped and I closed my mouth but gave him the stink eye, his green eyes darkened at that and I knew I was done for.

“Guns” he barked and I instinctively whipped out my gun. Brock had taught me how to quickly arm myself, he cu
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