Page 3 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Perfect.

A fitting grave, if it comes to that.

The ruins loom larger as I stagger into their shadow. Towering pillars lean at impossible angles, and beneath them, a courtyard opens—half choked with weeds, half paved with cracked stone. I lurch toward the nearest wall, my hand catching rough, ancient stone as my legs give out.

I collapse against the wall, stone cool against my fevered skin. My hand clutches at my wound. Blood slicks my palm. I press harder, hard enough to make myself gasp, to remind myself I’m still here. Still fighting.

The forest beyond the ruins is eerily silent—no snapping branches, no distant howls. My ears strain for the hunt, but for the first time since I fled, I hear nothing but my own broken gasps.

Did I lose them?

No,a cold voice whispers in my head,you bought yourself time. That’s all.

They’re out there. I can feel them. My mother’s enforcers, prowling like wolves in the dark, blood-bound and loyal to a monster in silk. But maybe—just maybe—they’ll hesitate before following me here. Superstition runs deep in the clan, and this place reeks of old gods and older vengeance.

I tilt my head back against the wall, the cool stone grounding me, and a ragged sob rattles from my chest. My eyes burn, but no tears fall—I’m too spent.

Above me, the sky stretches wide and star-swept, a thousand glittering pinpricks looking down without care. The stars don't blink for me. The night doesn't pause. I’m a fleck of shadow beneath an indifferent cosmos, and yet—despite everything—there’s something like relief threading through the pain. Fragile. Foolish. But there.

I made it this far.

That has to count for something.

Except my body’s done. I can’t run again. I can’t even crawl. If they find me here, it’ll be over before I can lift a hand in protest. Not that I’d manage more than a whimper.

And if I don’t stop the bleeding soon, I’ll never live to see them arrive.

A bitter laugh bubbles up in my throat, dry and pained. “So,” I whisper to the night, voice hoarse, “is this where it ends?”

The ruins give me nothing back. No whispered comfort, no answer from the gods the elders used to fear. Just shadows and silence.

Yet, the silence here is different. Not just the hush of the forest, but something deeper—like the place itself is holding its breath.

The moon looms overhead, heavy and full above the broken walls.

It stares down like a witness. Like it sees me—really sees me—and still offers nothing. My lips part around a wordless plea.Help me. Please.

But there's no one.

No gods. No allies. No soft-voiced rescue waiting in the wings. I’m alone.

“I won’t…” My voice fractures, thin and brittle, but I grit my teeth and force it out. “I won’t go back.”

The vow lands like a stone in the stillness. Sharp. Absolute. I may be bleeding out on ancient cursed ground, I may be alone—but I’d rather die in this ruined place than ever kneel at her feet again.

Then, despite my best efforts, my body surrenders. The cold creeps in, tangling with the terror, and I wonder if all those thoughts of freedom were just pretty lies.

At least I tried.

The darkness comes slow. Like sleep. Like surrender.

But in my last flicker of awareness, I imagine her face—the clan matriarch, my mother, watching from her gilded halls, waiting for me to crawl home.

She’ll wait forever.

Because I’m never going back.

Not even if it kills me.

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