Page 4 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Roan

I’venevercaredmuchfor old ruins, yet here I am, trudging through the night with only my sword and a nagging sense of regret for company.

The wind howls through broken archways like the place is still mourning whatever civilization left it behind. Dust skitters across cracked stones, stirred up like restless ghosts. A smarter woman would be in a tavern right now, boots off, meal in hand, maybe a little buzzed on cheap ale and even cheaper company. But no—I’m out here, alone, freezing my ass off in the armpit of nowhere, because of a job that slipped through my fingers.

I grunt and run a hand through my short-cropped hair.Should’ve seen it coming.

I had a good deal lined up—decent coin for escorting a wagon of silks from one side of the valley to the other. Easy ride, I thought. Guard the goods, keep my blade clean. But then the merchant got nervous, said he didn’t like the idea of relying on “just one sellsword,” especially not a woman. Said it’d be safer to hire a pack of local guards instead.

Coward.

He gave me a quarter of the promised coin, mumbled something about appreciating my time, and that was that.

I’d have told him to shove his silks where the sun never shines, but I needed at least a portion of that payment, and that stings worse than the dismissal.

There went my job. My ride to the next town. My damn pride.

Now I’ve got enough silver to last a week if I ration hard—no ale, no hot meals, and no inn unless I’m desperate. I’ve pinned my hopes on the border town of Elden Hollow, a few day’s journey from here if I don’t collapse halfway. It’s not glamorous, but it’s busy—positioned right between three hostile territories. To the south and west, vampire clans dig in like ticks. Up north, there’s a cluster of gold-hungry towns itching to spill blood over coin. And further north still, the werewolves stalk the frost fields, answering to no one but their own hunger.

In other words, Elden Hollow is exactly the kind of place a merc like me thrives. Plenty of threats. Plenty of frightened people with coin to spare.

But first, I have to get there.

I can either camp under the stars or brave some tumble-down relic that might offer shelter from the wind. Between an open field and a battered ruin, the choice isn’t hard.

My boots crunch over loose stones as I step forward, scanning the remains of what might’ve been a temple once, or a manor. Hard to tell—age and decay have wiped most of the details clean.

Better not to get curious,I remind myself.

Curiosity doesn’t pay. Contracts do. And right now, I’ve got none.

Still, I move carefully, scanning for signs of trouble. Bandits sometimes use these places for hideouts. I’ve learned the hard way that “empty” corridors can hide a lot more than old pottery shards. My sword-hand flexes in a reflexive test of readiness. The hilt is as familiar as my own skin—my truest companion on the road.

At least the sky’s clear.The moon's doing me a favor tonight. Its light drapes over the broken stone like a half-hearted blessing, just enough for me to pick my way through the rubble without tripping. But the cold? The cold bites deep. It’s in my joints, my jaw, my spine—wrapping around my bones like it wants to root there.

I’d kill for a hot fire.

No, scratch that. I’d fight for it, not kill—although the night is young, and you never know what you might have to do out here.

My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since dawn. Rations are slim: a heel of stale bread, a scrap of dried venison. I push away the gnawing emptiness.

If I can find a decent corner to hole up for the night, maybe I’ll hunt at first light. Rabbits don’t usually stray too far from places like this—too many hiding spots. And I’m fast when I need to be.

Wind kicks up again, sharper this time. It whistles through the shattered stone like a warning, sending a chill across my neck. My cloak snaps around my calves, but I keep walking, stepping over a slab of stone that might’ve been part of a grand doorway centuries ago.

The place is eerily quiet, except for the wind. If there were bandits squatting here, they’d have made themselves known by now. Thrown a rock, rattled a blade, something to mark their territory. No one hides this long unless they’re planning something, and somehow I don’t think this ruin’s hiding a trap. No warmth in the air. No scent of cookfire or stale sweat.

So maybe—for once—I’m actually alone.

Still doesn’t mean safe.

I work my way deeper into what appears to be the remains of a small courtyard—stone columns, some intact, most just jagged stumps. The ground slopes here, scattered with loose stones and creeping ivy. By the faint moonlight, I see a curved wall still standing at the far end, half-swallowed by vines. Perfect spot for shelter. I can tuck my back to it, keep watch, and maybe get a few hours’ rest.

That’s all I need. Then I’ll move on, find work in Elden Hollow, and forget all about the night I spent in the bones of a forgotten place.

Except… something prickles at the back of my neck.

A shiver—not from cold this time, but instinct.

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