Snow White had never been much of a person for milling and she'd accepted by now that she likely never would be. But there was food, and that was enough to pull her out of her shell and get her to come to this thing.

The gun remained on her hip, though. She'd had to leave Rose Red behind when she'd gone to Europe--something to do with significantly stricter gun laws than anywhere she'd ever been--and it was good to have it back where it was supposed to be. Most people around here were used to it by now, both the weapon and the unconventional grip set with red pearls. She didn't leave it behind, not unless she had no choice.

She'd settled near the boy because he seemed unlikely to bother her, nor be bothered by her quiet. Snow was unconcerned with silence. But she broke it to softly ask, "What's that?" about one of the pictures.