Chapter 148: Fragrant Night
Night had fallen all at once, like a lead curtain dropping over the desert plain. The air still shimmered with the heat stored in the ground, but a sharp chill had begun gnawing at the edges of the darkness.
Around the fire Marisse had lit — a small pile of dry branches crackling softly — the group moved in a quiet choreography. Jonas, his face etched by the dancing shadows, was indeed pulling a blackened, dented pot from a patched-up chest at the back of the cart.
That’s when Maggie pounced. Her movement was so sudden, so feline, that Jonas flinched, nearly dropping the heavy pot. She planted herself in front of him, eyes usually hard as stone now transformed into two lakes of near-frightening intensity. Her question cut through the air: "Isn’t that a pot you’ve got there?"
Jonas, thrown by the abrupt invasion of his personal space, stammered, "Uh... yeah?" He lifted it slightly, as if to prove its existence. "It’s a pot. A metal cooking thing... I think?" His confusion was plain, tinged with the kind of concern reserved for people who suddenly act like a different species.
Without another word, Maggie stepped back and rushed to her military bag, slung along the side of the cart. The zipper shrieked under her violent tug. Her hands dove in with feverish urgency and emerged holding a parcel wrapped in coarse oilcloth. She unwrapped it in a single, efficient motion, revealing a thick cut of meat, dark red and marbled with pearly white fat. It was heavy, solid, and gave off a wild, feral scent that overpowered the smoke of the fire.
She held it out to Jonas, her grin growing far too wide, showing far too many teeth. "Think you can do something with this?" Her voice was low, humming with contained excitement.
A silence fell, heavier than the meat itself. Camp noises faded to nothing. The bearded man, checking the horses’ harnesses, froze mid-movement, one hand resting on a horse’s neck. Dylan, seated on a rock polishing a chipped blade, looked up, his grey eyes wide. Élisa, standing guard at the edge of the firelight, slowly turned her head, sharp gaze passing from the meat to Maggie’s face. Marisse, crouched near the flames, paused in the act of feeding in a branch.
Jonas, still stunned, looked at the meat, then at Maggie, then at the pot in his hands. The rich, primal smell tickled his nose. Instinct overtook surprise.
"Where...?" he began, but Maggie cut him off with a look that said this was not the time for questions.