Del untied dinner from where he had secured it to his pack, the funnip’s limp body swinging slightly as he set it down. It was heavier than he expected for such a compact creature, its dense muscle betraying the power packed into those deceptively cute limbs. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the thick fur, the sharp little claws, the slightly open mouth that revealed two rows of needle-like teeth. The thing really did look like it was designed to eat fingers for fun.

  He drew his skinning knife, rolling his shoulders as he eyed the carcass. Time to see if he had any more luck with a crazy, carnivorous rabbit than he’d had with a giant pig.

  The fire crackled steadily, casting flickering light over the camp as he made his first incision. The blade parted the fur, but before he could get much further—

  “I wanna try!”

  Del barely had time to process the words before Naomi plopped down beside him, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and curiosity.

  Elara, still standing with her arms crossed, let out a quiet snort. “Oh, this’ll be good.”

  Naomi didn’t seem to notice the amusement in her tone. She leaned in, peering at the funnip as Del hesitated, then turned to her expectantly.

  “You sure? It’s not as easy as it looks,” he warned.

  “I can do it,” she said confidently. “I helped Mummy with chickens sometimes.”

  Del arched a brow but handed her the knife, shifting the carcass slightly so she had a better angle. Naomi took the blade with all the confidence of a child about to prove themselves, biting her lip in concentration.

  She started the next cut, but the moment the blade sliced through the flesh, her expression shifted—brows furrowing, nose wrinkling slightly as the first hints of warm, raw scent hit her. The funnip’s insides were a deeper red than she expected, its muscle fibrous and strange, the scent stronger than the mild poultry she was used to.

  Her resolve wavered.

  She swallowed, adjusting her grip. “It’s... slippery.”

  Del fought back a smile. “Yeah, that happens.”

  Naomi pressed on—determined—but her knife work quickly became more tentative. Then, as she accidentally nicked the membrane of something unpleasant, a thin, sour-smelling fluid seeped out.

  Her face twisted in horror. She abruptly dropped the knife and scrambled back.

  Elara burst out laughing.

  “Oh no, what happened to all that confidence?”

  Naomi shot her a withering glare before rubbing her hands frantically on her tunic. “It’s gross.”

  Del chuckled, retrieving the blade. “Told you it wasn’t easy.”

  Naomi huffed but didn’t argue. “Fine. I’ll find tubers instead.”

  Elara grinned. “That’s probably for the best. If you see any fat ones, grab them—we want the best for our first meal of the trip attempt.”

  With a dramatic sigh, Naomi stomped off toward the patch of earth they’d scouted earlier, clearly eager to redeem herself.

  Del turned back to the carcass. Before he could start again, he noticed Elara watching him with an amused smirk.

  “You haven’t done much of this, have you?” she observed.

  Del exhaled through his nose. “Is it that obvious?”

  She nodded, that impish smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I told you, a wise fool. I’m still not sure how someone who seems to know so much knows so little about the basics.” She winked. “I blame your parents. Now, give me that knife before you ruin dinner or cut off your finger.”

  He didn’t argue. With a sigh, he passed the blade over.

  What followed was essentially a skinning 101 lesson, with Elara acting as the patient instructor. She crouched beside him, demonstrating how to open the abdomen cleanly, making sure to avoid piercing anything that would taint the meat. Her movements were quick, sure, each cut precise.

  Unlike the hacking disaster that had been his first attempt at butchering a boar, this was fluid, methodical.

  “See? Simple,” she said, peeling the hide back in one clean motion. “No mess, no stink. And, best of all—” she lifted the neatly gutted carcass—“you don’t waste anything.”

  Del gave a grudging nod, watching as she separated the offal, setting aside the best cuts for Misty, who had returned from wherever she had been lurking. The cat sat with the eerie stillness of a predator waiting for its share, her golden eyes locked onto the fresh liver as if willing it into her possession.

  “I suppose that’s better than me accidentally turning it inside out,” Del admitted.

  “Much better.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  He took the pelt and, under Elara’s watchful supervision, carefully washed it in the river before laying it out over a flat rock to dry. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. If he could collect a few more decent hides, he might even be able to trade them at the next town.

  By the time he returned to the fire, the scent of roasting funnip filled the air—rich and savoury, the fat sizzling as it dripped into the flames. He turned the meat occasionally on the spit, sending wafts of herby meaty smells through the cool evening air.

  Naomi had returned with a triumphant grin and a bundle of knobbly tubers, which she set down beside Del.

  “Best ones I could find,” she declared.

  “Good work,” he said, ruffling her hair before she swatted his hand away.

  She took her place beside Elara, watching the fire, her earlier horror at the butchering process forgotten in the excitement of the meal to come.

  Del sat back, feeling unexpectedly content as he chopped the tubers into rough chunks, dropping them into a small pot of boiling water. The fire popped, sending sparks spiralling into the night, the scent of cooking and woodsmoke wrapping around them like a blanket.

  They hadn’t covered as much ground as planned—Naomi’s shorter stride and sore feet had slowed them down—but all things considered, it hadn’t been a bad day. They had food, warmth, and a quiet night ahead.

  ‘Altogether, not bad, Del,’ he reassured himself, stirring the pot absently.

  Across from him, Naomi sat close to Elara, listening intently as the older woman spun a story from her own childhood. The girl’s expression was rapt, her wide eyes flickering in the firelight. Misty, curled at Elara’s feet, flicked her tail in idle amusement. Whether the cat was actually paying attention to the tale or simply enjoying her meal of liver and kidney was hard to say, but she looked thoroughly content.

  ‘You know, Del, there are far worse places to be.’

  He gave the spit another turn, watching the golden-brown sheen of the funnip’s crisping skin.

  ‘As long as there are no crazy wizards,’ he amended.

  The tubers were done, the funnip roasted through. He pulled his knife free and carved the meat into portions, the aroma thick and rich.

  “Food’s ready,” he announced, serving up steaming plates.

  Elara accepted hers with a smirk. “Well, at least we know Misty’s an effective hunter.”

  Naomi, already eagerly reaching for a piece, nodded enthusiastically. “I bet mummy would make this even better.”

  Del chuckled. “Alright, it’s not your mum’s, but it’s not bad for trail grub.”

  With that, he dug in, the warmth of the fire on his skin and the quiet murmur of voices making the evening feel—if only for a little while—like something close to home.

  The food was hot and filling. The funnip had a distinctly gamey flavour, but it was surprisingly tender, its juices running freely and soaking into the tubers—strag roots, according to Identify. Their earthy, slightly nutty taste balanced the richness of the meat, making for a satisfying meal. The scent of roasting fat and charred skin still lingered in the air, mixing with the woodsmoke drifting lazily from the fire.

  Del sat back, replete and comfortable, stretching out his legs with a satisfied sigh.

  “That was altogether not bad,” he said, patting his stomach.

  Naomi, still working through her last mouthfuls, nodded enthusiastically, while Elara responded with a subtle burp—just enough to be noticed. Naomi froze mid-chew, eyes wide, before bursting into laughter. Elara smirked, the corners of her lips twitching before she lost control and joined in, the sound of giggling filling the camp.

  Del shook his head in amusement.

  The sun was slipping toward the horizon now, its fading light staining the sky in deep oranges and dusky purples. The fire flickered steadily, crackling softly as it burned through the last of the larger logs. The world felt peaceful, calm.

  As the evening drew in, they settled Naomi into one of the tents. She curled up without protest, the weight of the day’s travel finally catching up to her. A few quiet murmurs from inside confirmed that Misty had joined her, the cat no doubt curling into whatever warm spot she could claim.

  Elara lingered by the fire, watching as Del nudged at the embers with a stick, sending tiny sparks spiralling upward. The air rich with woodsmoke, mingled with the last traces of their meal.

  “It’s been a good start to our trip,” she mused.

  Del hummed in agreement. “We’ve got a long way to go, though. Do you know much about the land ahead?”

  She shook her head, a faint frown crossing her features. “No, very little. I was never privy to the reports of our emissaries, and I was too young to be involved in the scouts’ conversations.”

  “Then it’ll be a learning experience for both of us.”

  Elara regarded him for a moment, then gave a small chuckle. “You really haven’t spent much time in the wild before, have you, Del?”

  He huffed a quiet laugh, glancing at her. “My life before I landed on Gondowa was quiet, to say the least. I was injured a while back, and although it’s better now, for a long time, I could do very little. Before that, I lived in a quiet town, doing mostly scribe’s work. I got my food from a market, had a roof over my head, and a fire to keep me warm. The most dangerous thing I had to deal with was Misty’s claws whenever she decided my leg was a suitable scratching post.”

  Elara listened, nodding along as he spoke, her expression thoughtful. He kept it vague, as much truth as he could afford to share. She deserved honesty, but some things were better left unsaid.

  “It does explain a lot,” she said as he finished. Then she smirked, something flickering in her eyes. “The Wirral and the Dosha—you’re all over them.”

  ‘Damnit, here we go again. What the fuck is a Wirral? Or a Dosha?’

  He forced his expression to remain neutral, giving a noncommittal grunt as he searched for a response.

  Elara seemed to take his silence as understanding, stretching her arms over her head before stepping back toward the tent. “Well, I’m tired. I’m heading to bed.”

  Del exhaled, relieved she wasn’t pressing the subject.

  “Join you in a moment,” he said, tipping his head back to look up at the stars. “I just want to enjoy the sky for a bit longer.”

  She gave a low chuckle as she ducked inside. “Well, don’t go making me all cold just as I get the bed warmed up.”

  The tent flap fell shut behind her, leaving him alone with the crackling fire and the vast stretch of the sky overhead.

  The night was clear, the heavens spilling over with stars—more than he had ever seen back home. Here, without the glow of cities or lanterns, the sky felt infinite. A deep, yawning abyss of darkness, streaked with the faint silver haze of distant galaxies.

  A soft weight landed beside him, Misty stretching out luxuriously as she curled against his side, her fur warm from the fire’s glow. Her purr vibrated through the quiet, a rhythmic hum against the stillness of the night.

  Del smiled faintly, watching the firelight flicker in her golden eyes.

  “You have a simple life,” he murmured to her.

  Misty flicked an ear, her response dry. ‘Hmph. Life is meant to be simple. Worry about what is. Then kill or run.’

  Del let out a short, surprised laugh. He shook his head, rising from the grass.

  “Goodnight, Misty.”

  The cat gave a lazy blink, unbothered, and stretched out further in his absence.

  Del made his way toward the tent, brushing the last embers of warmth from his fingers. The camp was still, the night wrapped around them in quiet security.

  Some hours later

  A sharp, urgent mental nudge struck him, yanking him from the warm comfort of sleep

  ‘Kill or run time.’