Chapter 133: Flames inside
Dylan scratched the back of his head, exhausted.
"Four weeks... we’re going to stink like corpses."
"If we’re lucky," Maggie smiled.
"Otherwise, we become the corpses."
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The fire crackled—a stingy little ember under the rocky overhang, reluctant to share its warmth. The acrid stench of blood and the slain beast had faded, replaced by the softer, almost comforting scent of roasted boar-bear meat.
Maggie had skinned a leg with brutal efficiency. Élisa had found wild herbs—sharp on the tongue, but refreshing—to mask the gamey taste, and Dylan had gathered dead wood, his movements still stiff, his arms sore from clumsy blows struck with the jian.
They ate in silence at first, the weight of the past hours pressing down heavily. The meat was tough, demanding vigorous chewing. Dylan tore into his piece with a kind of grim resolve, avoiding Maggie’s gaze from across the fire. The memory of the wounds—ones she had inflicted under the control of the Midnight Lady, then absorbed into herself—hung between them, as thick and real as the smoke.
It was Maggie who broke the silence, her voice quieter, less abrasive than usual. She held out a particularly well-grilled piece of meat, cut close to the bone where it was more tender.