Since he seemed to be so entirely calm and unconcerned about his situation, Franka pulled off the rucksack and her jacket and got rid of her leather protections. She stretched out on her back in her burgundy top and long leather trousers. It was safe up here, this Jake wouldn't freak and suddenly push her down the plane, she felt, unnecessary to wear the thick protections under which her skin was hot and itching in this weather. Having spent so much time with veterans of the plague, she had forgotten about her scars. She was never self-conscious about them, few survivors did not sport at least some, and most who had lived like her looked a lot worse for wear.<br/><br/>Franka was blessed with a body that healed fast and well, her scars faded and shrank over time, most were faint, thin and white, few still stood out in red or purple, none were very ugly or disfiguring, she had been lucky enough to never miss whole pieces of flesh. But the sight of bite marks on her neck, shoulders, upper arms and the recognisable traces of fingers having left tears was nonetheless disturbing. The rage, strength and viciousness of the attackers they implied, the tearing, biting, clawing at her flesh that must have caused them, so entirely human and inhuman at the same time, the narrowness of the one or other escape they betrayed, none of this made them a sight pleasant to look at.<br/><br/>Perhaps this was even more the case because this was a very young, fit, nicely shaped, soft skinned woman's body. The most perverse looking scars probably were a few fierce bites at her throat and neck and the deep parallel tears running over her belly and waist that had actually been caused on different occasions, but seen together, looked like the result of sickeningly rough, violent sex gone entirely overboard. Unaware of it, she lazily scratched her belly and began to tell Jake what little was known of the virus, explained what was safe to eat, drink, and hunt, told him about the animals he'd better not run into and how best to react when he did, and everything they knew about the infected.<br/><br/>It took long, but they had nothing better to do, lessons on survival could never come early enough, nor would a few months on this plane have prepared him for what awaited him once he was forced to leave his safe haven. She now and then scanned their surroundings with her binoculars, turned onto her belly or her side, casually, natural, uncaring of what he might think of her lazing around like this. She cared not for manners, all she wanted was to enjoy being allowed to stretch out for hours on end with nothing to do, and getting that cold, wet night out of her bones she had spent up in her hammock in the treetops.<br/><br/>Towards afternoon, she asked whether she could stay the night, said she wouldn't need any of his food, but if he'd rather stay alone it was time for her to go. She knew now he had no information on the virus, that the world outside was what it had been here, too, before the plague hit, that Europe's borders were guarded - no doubt to keep the infected and people like herself from getting out. That was about as much useful information she could probably expect ever to get out of him. So, she didn't care overly whether he'd stay here alone, that was his choice. If he wouldn't mind her staying, she'd sleep a night inside the plane where it was safe, and either trod off alone the other day or take him along. She said as much.