A New Cook

Varrelle stretched, and then started. There were two men staring at her. Had they caught her? Were they going to interrogate her? And why was she on the ground?
Her mind clamored questions at her, but she forced herself to remember the last thing she had done and seen. That’s right! That young soldier. But, there he was, staring at her as if she was the strangest thing he had ever seen. He wasn’t the only one who had a shock. What was he doing? He was covered in mud, blood, and worse. Well. She needed to gather her thoughts, and get some answers.
Painfully she began to get up, when the young soldier who she had met first, what was his name? Dyl? Came over and helped her up. Gratified by his kindness, she smiled weakly at him.
She immediately began to take hand of the situation.
“Who are you? I mean, I know your names, but nothing more. Also, what do you want with me? And finally, what happened to me?” she asked quickly, before either of them dared say something to her.
“We are Moravian soldiers.” the one named, Nat, she was sure, the one she had healed at least, and the one in her vision, told her. “We wish to do you know harm. All we want is some answers. And as for what happened to you, we still don’t really know for sure. You have been out cold for at least 12 hours. We think it was pure exhaustion, plain and simple.”
Remembering the feeling of lightning running through her veins, she doubted it, but was satisfied to ignore that for the moment. Other than the fact that she felt rejuvenated after days of hard work was a good feeling, she still had questions.
“OK, Nat, Dyl. What are you going to do with me?” she inquired brusquely.
“Weeeeeell, we are ordered to capture anyone we meet, and report to our superiors.” Dyl said reluctantly. “Although we really don’t feel we should do that, considering what you’ve done for Nat here. He would have been a goner.”
“Actually,” Nat said, “I was wondering whether we couldn’t make you a proposition. If you wanted, instead of turning you in, we could take you to Sergeant Bullion, and see if you can’t take the place of chef. Our old one was killed in battle, and you seem to have a knack with herbs.”
Varrelle began weighing pros and cons.
After about 3 minutes of waiting on the part of the soldiers, she said, “OK, but only under certain conditions. First, I’m going to need my own sleeping area. I refuse to sleep with the soldiers. Second, when I ask for something, I expect to get it. Of course only kitchen things. As far as I can see, that’s all, but I may need other things, and I reserve the right to change those conditions whenever I need to. Is that clear? I also will demand respect from the soldiers.”
Nat and Dyl looked at each other. Nat had suspected that these would be the conditions. They weren’t unreasonable.
“OK, you’ve got yourself a deal. Of course, we aren’t the people in charge. You still need to talk to Sergeant Bullion.”
“Alright, I’m prepared for that.”
As they led her away from the brook and toward the main buildings, she began to worry a little. This was NOT the way she had planned it. But she needed to stay close to Nat. She needed to find out more about how he impacted her.
They reached the main building. As they walked inside, she saw a tall, muscled man yelling orders to some soldiers. He stopped when he saw them.
“What do you want?” he snapped
“Sir, I was under the impression that you needed a chef. Well I would be willing to cook. I’m also talented with herbs.”
The Sergeant seemed to mull it over.
“What are your conditions?”
“First, I’m going to need my own sleeping area. I refuse to sleep with the soldiers. Second, when I ask for something, I expect to get it. Of course, only culinary things. As far as I can see, that’s all, but I may need other things, and I reserve the right to change those conditions whenever I need to. I also will demand respect from the soldiers.”
“Girly, those are standard. Is there anything else?”
“Well, wages would be good to talk about. I was thinking that approximately 8 darellins per month would suffice.” (Enough to buy at least 2 dresses)
“Girly, the army pays 11 darellins per month per cook, because the cooks end up fighting. The job isn’t a coveted one, well paying or otherwise.”
“Fine, I’ll take it.”
“You’re hired”

(Yay! Go guineagal! Keep it up! Can you readers guess who wrote this one? I pretty much left it alone so I haven't changed anything I don't think)