Page 41 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

“Figured you’d be hungry,” she says, her voice unreadable.

I stop in my tracks. “You—” I swallow, my throat tight. She caught it forme.

She just waits, her grip firm around the rabbit’s hind legs. A small offering, wordless but weighty.

I step closer, hesitating before reaching out. Our fingers brush for a brief moment as she hands it to me. The warmth of her skin lingers longer than it should.

“…Thank you.” I lower my gaze, cradling the rabbit carefully. The heat in my face isn’t from the rising sun.

Roan nods, then steps back, busying herself with kicking dirt over the last of the embers.

I exhale, tension easing just a little. It’s easier this way—actions instead of words, survival instead of whatever unspoken thing lingers between us.

Still, I can’t ignore the way she keeps glancing at me, her expression unreadable. And I can’t ignore the strange relief in my chest, knowing she thought of me while I was gone.

We sit in silence as I feed. Roan leans back against her pack, arms crossed, eyes flicking occasionally toward the trees, as if the woods might spit Selis back out.

Selis. I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory of her knowing smirk, the way her gaze had lingered on Roan—like they shared a language I couldn’t hope to understand.

I remember the tightness in Roan’s voice last night, the sharp edge of anger when she demanded to know why I’d talked to Selis at all.

She’s not safe. People like her… they don’t care about anyone but themselves.

I’d never heard Roan sound so... unsettled.

Finally, I shift, setting aside what remains of the rabbit. The weight in my stomach isn’t just from the meal.

“I didn’t like her,” I blurt out.

Roan stills.

“Selis,” I clarify. “I didn’t like her.”

A pause. Then Roan turns her head, watching me carefully. “Yeah?”

I nod, staring at the ground, fiddling with a blade of grass. “She was... loud. And cocky.”

Roan huffs a quiet laugh and looks away, but I catch the faint upward curve of her lips.

“She’s always been like that,” she says. “Annoying as hell.”

“And she kept... looking at you.”

Roan stiffens. She doesn’t say anything.

I drop my gaze to my hands. “She acted like she... knew you. Like she had a claim.”

“She doesn’t,” Roan says too quickly.

Silence swells again. My chest tightens as questions I don’t want to ask gather in my throat.

What was she to you? Did you ever talk with her the way you talk with me? Did she ever sit beside you like this, the air crackling with things unsaid?

I swallow hard and force my voice to stay even. “So... who was she?”

Roan doesn’t answer right away. She scrubs a hand over her jaw like she’s wiping something away. “Someone I worked with. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I ask, softer this time.

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