Chapter 116: A Respite
The grass whispered beneath Inigo’s boots as he crouched low, his M4 Carbine cradled tight against his shoulder. The treeline up ahead opened into a small meadow bathed in the last golden streaks of sun. Just beyond the tall grass, a boar rooted lazily at the earth. Big. Muscled. Oblivious.
Inigo signaled to Lyra with two fingers. She caught the movement and paused behind a tree, giving him the space to take the shot. This one was his. After everything—they both knew he needed this. Not for the food. But for the quiet. The normalcy. The grounding.
He exhaled slowly, let the tension bleed from his arms. The rifle was familiar weight, a piece of his old world strapped to his present. He didn’t even need the optic. Just muscle memory.
The boar twitched, ears flicking. But the suppressed shot cracked like a whisper, and the creature dropped without a sound.
Inigo lowered the rifle. "Clean."
Lyra stepped up beside him, giving the fallen animal a nod of respect. "Nice shot. That should feed us for a couple days."
"Let’s not waste it," Inigo said, kneeling to start the field dressing. His combat knife slid cleanly under the hide, practiced and methodical. Blood stained the grass, but neither of them looked away.
They worked without speaking. The forest around them began to hush, the wind sighing gently through the canopy. Somewhere a bird called. It was a peaceful kind of isolation—empty in the way that made space for thought.
By the time they made camp, the sun had disappeared beyond the cliffs, casting the landscape into soft indigo shadows. Lyra gathered dry wood, and Inigo got the fire going with practiced ease. Sparks danced upward, vanishing into the growing night.
Fat sizzled as boar meat roasted over open flame. Inigo sat with his arms resting over his knees, watching the fat drip and crackle. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the scent hit him.
Lyra handed him a skewer. "Eat."