Page 11 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Water.If only that solved my real problem.But I take it anyway. She doesn’t need to know what I really need.

My hands tremble as I drink. The water soothes the raw edge of my throat, but it does nothing for the deeper ache.

The fire crackles softly, dancing shadows on the broken walls. Outside, the wind carries distant sounds of creatures stirring. For a moment, I let myself wonder what it would be like to stay here, in this quiet corner of the world, free from my clan’s reach. But I can’t forget they’re still hunting me. That dream—nightmare—might become reality again the moment they find me.

When I hand the canteen back, Roan takes it without a word. She nods in acknowledgment and settles down across from me, one arm draped over her raised knee. There’s a tension in her posture, like she’s ready to grab that sword at any sign of trouble.

Still, there’s something almost comforting about her. She hasn’t left my side yet, hasn’t asked for money or demanded explanations. In this world, that counts for something.

We sit like that, surrounded by crumbling stone and firelight, the ruins a cradle of brokenness that somehow holds us both. I close my eyes. Just a little longer, I tell myself. Just until the sun rises.

Because somehow, I think she’ll still be there when it does.

And that fragile sense of safety is enough to let me slip under the veil of sleep once more.

Roan

Irakeahandthrough my hair, trying to shake off the layer of fatigue settling in behind my eyes. Exhaustion's creeping in—slow and thick, like fog—but I keep my eyes on the fire. Aria’s asleep again, her breathing soft and shallow as she leans against the ruined wall. The small fire crackles, painting her pale face in flickers of orange.

She looks younger in sleep. Or maybe just vulnerable. The bandage on her shoulder is already starting to spot through with blood again, and there’s a faint tremble in her hand, even now. I should be used to this—people falling apart in front of me, people I barely know depending on me to pull them out of whatever hell they’ve landed in—but this is different.

She’s different.

I press my palm to the hilt of my sword, feeling the worn leather beneath my fingers, grounding myself in its familiar weight. Usually, that’s all I need—steel, instinct, a plan.

This time, it feels like I’m winging it. Seeing her lying there, battered and alone, did something to me I can’t quite explain.

I don’t know what she is—not really. But no human should’ve survived a wound like that. Not without screaming. Not withoutbreaking.

And still, she’s here. Quiet. Breathing. Alive.

And gods help me, I can’t stop watching her.

I stand slowly, joints crackling in quiet protest as I stretch. My cloak shifts with the movement, and I cross the ruin to the narrow archway that faces east. A breeze cuts through the stones, crisp and sharp, stirring my cloak around my boots and prickling goosebumps along my arms.

Dawn’s coming.

The sky’s gone from indigo to a soft bruised blue, a whisper of light brushing the treetops in the distance. No birdsong yet—just wind and silence. I scan the horizon, listening for anything that doesn’t belong: the snap of a twig, the crunch of careless boots, the hiss of drawn breath in the underbrush. Nothing. Just cold air and solitude.

I breathe out slowly, relieved and on edge all at once. “Well,” I mutter to myself, glancing back at Aria’s sleeping form, “no one trying to kill us this very second. That’s something.”

She shifts in her sleep, face contorting like she’s caught in another nightmare. Her hair falls across her cheek, and for a moment, she just looks…exhausted.

There’s still too much I don’t know. Everything about her is a warning dressed up in desperation.

Either way, it’s serious.Too serious for her to keep stumbling around the forest alone like this.

But how far does my responsibility go? My job’s usually pretty straightforward: guard a caravan, escort someone across dangerous territory, or handle rowdy drunks at a tavern door.

Taking care of a strange woman with secrets in her eyes isn’t something I’ve done before.

I wander back to the fire, crouching low to poke at the embers with a charred stick. Sparks leap into the air—brief, brilliant. Gone just as quick. It makes me think of her. Aria feels like something on the verge of vanishing.

One strong gust and she’ll disappear altogether.

She stirs, exhaling a faint sigh. I let her rest, a knot twisting deeper into my gut. She barely touched the water I offered, hardly glanced at the food. There’s a gauntness to her features that reminds me of folks who’ve starved for weeks.

But it may not be hunger for bread.

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