She pulled a piece of bark from her pocket. On it, in charcoal, were tally marks.
She held up the bark. The tally marks weren't of days. They were of betrayals. Each one had a name next to it. She pulled a piece of bark from her pocket
"Starving people are weak people. Weak people turn on each other. And when they turn on each other, they forget to vote for the quiet one in the corner." She pulled a piece of bark from her pocket
She winked at the hidden camera in the tree hollow. She pulled a piece of bark from her pocket