A soft breeze tousles Thomas' hair as he sits perched on the roof of a ramshackle hut on the beach. He heaves another bundle of thatching onto the slats, filling in another gap in the roof. Adjusting it until it slid into place.

His hands drop to his knees, as he pauses taking a breath. His shoulders sagging in relief, as he brushes at his sweaty brow with the back of his gloved hand. He draws in a deep breath of the warm, salt sea air, as he squints into the brilliance of the midmorning sun. And for a moment he just let himself get lost in the roll of the surf along the shore.

Then he returns to his work, reaching for another bundle of thatching. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Minho watching him from across the roof.

"You good?" The other boy asks him, with a tilt of his head, his eyes suspicious.

Thomas waves him off. He hates how everybody keeps doing that. He's been going stir crazy these last few weeks recovering from his wounds. And while he's definitely still weakened by his injuries, he's getting stronger each day. It's frustrating how none of them seem to understand how restless he feels.

Brenda still won't let him tag along with her on hunting trips, and Jorge always finds excuses for why Thomas can't help with scavenging the old ship. Even Vince flat out refuses to let him lift a finger on any project around camp. He won't even let him keep watch at night.

So he's been relegated to husking coconuts with the youngest of the kids and helping Frypan in the kitchens. He'd finally managed to convinced Minho to let him help thatching roofs. But the other boy just keeps watching him like a hawk, as if he was gonna keel over at any second. Which he isn't. His side throbs as if to contradict him, but Thomas powers through.

He has to stop and start a few times, his side uncomfortable and his muscles feeling a bit strained from disuse but more than anything it feels good to be working. After another half an hour they were finish and Thomas feels a sweet sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Minho scales his way along the ridge of the roof and plunks down beside him clapping him on the shoulder. "Stubborn shank." He says, with a shake of his head, offering Thomas a drink from his canteen. Thomas gives a shrug and accepts the canteen with a smirk, not even bothering to defend himself.

His eyes trail over the camp. It's a ramshackle assortment of shacks, tents and huts that stretch along the beach and into the tree-line. Some of the structures are older and in the midst of being repaired like the one that and he and Minho had just re-thatched.

But there are fourteen new structures scattered about the camp that are in various stages of construction. The Right Arm have been funnelling immunes to this island for years to keep them safe. But ever since Thomas and the others had arrived, the safe haven has more than doubled in size.

All around him were signs of progress, signs of life. Woodsmoke curls in the air from the cooking fires, and the thick aroma of spices waft through the camp. A few of the teens are out in the fields, behind them harvesting some of the wild grains, and a few of the older boys are knee deep in the surf, hauling in nets. And on the far side of the camp there is a clatter of mallets as a crew of about five or six, work on a new shack.

Sensing someone watching him, his eyes dart downward, and the tips of his ears flush when he realizes that it's Brenda staring up at him. Her rifle is slung over one shoulder, as she cocks her head to one side, and raises her eyebrow at him.

Thomas resists the sudden impulse to explain himself.

He shrugs his shoulders, "What?" he asks, innocently, offering her a slight smirk.

Brenda bites the inside of her cheek, giving him the ghost of a smile as she shakes her head at him. His stomach does a funny little flip. That exasperated little smile of hers, it does things to him.

She hitches her rifle by it's strap , and eyes him up and down, "If you pop any of those stitches, I'm gonna kick your ass." She threatens, simply with a sweet smile. And then with a little wave she saunters off toward the edge of camp.

Minho's shoulders shake with laughter and Thomas blows out a breath as he watches her go. Then frowning at Minho he smacks the back of his friend's head to shut him up. Minho just laughs harder, and Thomas starts chuckling with him and has to curl his arm protectively around his ribs as pain lances through his side. He grits his teeth and tries to stop laughing. His eyes water slightly, he blinks and has to take a steadying breath. Minho nudges his shoulder slightly.

"C'mon, shuckface, let's get you down from here before you hurt yourself." Minho teases and he crawls across the roof toward to the ladder. Thomas rolls his eyes and sighs in resignation. But before he makes a move to follow Minho his eyes search the outskirts of the camp for one last glimpse of Brenda before she heads off to hunt.

He finds her climbing up the slight outcropping of rocks that leads to the woods. Then he stiffens when he notices somebody else with her. Brenda usually hunts alone. Every now and then she'll join in with one of the hunting parties, but its usually because they ask. Brenda is a crack shot so she doesn't need the help, she hunts better alone. At least that's what she'd told him when had tried to persuade her to let him come along. So why is Gally with her?

Thomas tenses as he watches the two of them together. Gally reaches the top of the rocks first and he bends down offering Brenda a hand up. Thomas scoffs, She doesn't need his help. He's seen her bound up those rocks faster than anyone. So that's why it aggravates him when he notices that she takes Gally's hand and lets him help her up.

Jealousy surges up unexpectedly inside him. Thomas twists his lips and looks away. Brenda is his friend. Even if they've kissed more than once, they're still friends. Weren't they? Thomas shakes his head at himself and moves to climb down the ladder. When he hops down from the ladder and lands next to Minho he notices a red smudge on one of the rungs. His eyes dart down to his hand that's smeared red, and then to his side where blood is seeping through his shirt.

"Shuck," he grumbles under his breath. He's popped his stitches again.

TO BE CONTINUED.