Page 37 of Dragon Gods

No matter what, she needed to get back to the base with a breathing Ocon. She needed to prove to Micael that she could follow orders and toe the line. Perhaps she’d even be allowed to stay after all the trouble.

“We should stop for the night,” she said, noting the small clearing up ahead.

“Tired, oh captor of mine?”

“You’ve tripped over the last three roots, so don’t pretend you’re not.” She barely looked at him as she inspected the area with a satisfied nod. It wasn’t much of a clearing, but it was wide enough to accommodate them and a fire, the trees arching overhead to protect them from the elements. They’d be safer in a cave or a cenote, but she hadn’t seen a hint of either since they’d started out that morning. “I’m going to go hunt for some food before it gets darker. Try to find us some water or fruit if you can manage.”

Without another word, she left, taking her bag of supplies with her. It would be harder to hunt with the daggers and bag weighing her down, but she wasn’t going to leave them with Ocon. She almost wondered, as she walked away, if he’d be in the clearing when she returned. Perhaps he’d take this moment to run. Not that he’d have any idea where he was going. Not that she did either, though he didn’t know that.

The trees in this part of the rainforest were larger and farther apart, but the underbrush was thick with bushes, brambles, and vines. There wasn’t enough time to lay snares. She’d just need to find somewhere to wait the animals out. With night approaching, the crepuscular creatures would be waking and venturing from their homes to hunt their own meals.

She found a promising-looking bush with some holes dug in the ground beneath it and set herself on a low branch as far away as she could get without losing her line of sight. And she waited with the patience she only ever had when she was hunting. For the first time in cycles, she felt her focus going fuzzy as she crouched, eyes burning and heavy, neck barely strong enough to hold up her head. She pinched her wrist to keep herself awake, over and over again as the sun set and the world went gray. There were a line of small red marks across her arm by the time she saw the first signs of movement from the bush. Careful to keep the daggers on her waist from making a sound, she raised her bow, fingers pulling back the string and eyes focused on the small brown rabbit as it snuffled out of its hole.

She continued to wait until the next rabbit came—slightly bigger than the first—and then she let her arrow fly. It was a smaller target than she was used to, but the arrow still sliced across its side, drawing a large slash of blood. The other rabbit ran, its partner attempting to follow, but it stumbled, body half-limp with impending death. She didn’t let herself feel the guilt as she caught up to it and broke its neck, ending its fear.

She traced her way back to the clearing, following the marks she’d made in the dirt on her way to hunt. When she broke through the last few bushes and Ocon sat in the clearing, she was almost surprised to see him. As she stepped on a pile of dead leaves, he jumped, swiveling around with a small log clasped in his hands. She only raised an eyebrow as he grimaced and turned away, going back to his attempt at lighting a fire.

He’d gathered an assortment of twigs and branches in front of him and had even created a small pile of wood shavings, but without a flint, he’d taken to a method that Sofia had only read about in books. He rolled a twig between his hands, attempting to create enough heat to spark a flame.

“Is that all you caught?” he asked, eyeing the rabbit hanging from her hand, not pausing his task.

“Do you want to try and do better?” she asked, throwing the dead animal beside him and watching his attempts at lighting the fire. If she wasn’t so cold and hungry, she might have just let him continue to flail. But at this rate, they’d be there all night waiting for the wood to heat and spark.

“Do you know how to skin and prep the meat?” she asked after another minute of watching him struggle with the fire.

The wince told her everything, but she still dropped the small knife next to him.

“Drain it, slice across its back to take off the fur, and then gut it through the belly.”

He sneered, looking at the dead creature as though it might jump up and attack him. “I’m making the fire.”

“Not fast enough,” she said, snatching the branch from his hands and throwing it into the pile with the rest. “I know you’re not squeamish around death, Ocon. So go ahead.”

She shoved him sideways and began to carefully rearrange the wood for the fire, clearing a larger area on the ground and digging into the dirt with a branch to make a small pit. With the lack of rain, the last thing they needed was to start a wildfire out here. She stacked the twigs neatly before pulling out the flint from her bag and piling the leaves beneath the wood. Ocon stared at her, unmoving, but she did her best to ignore him.

“You could have told me you had a flint,” he said, voice flat.

She didn’t hide her smirk. “Unless you want to eat that with the hair on, I’d get started.”

He moved at last, rolling up his sleeves with practiced fingers. His forearm muscles flexed and the black dagger inked into his inner arm rippled subtly with every twitch of his fingers. Her eyes flickered up to his face, though he was seemingly unaware of her examination.

Her jaw clenched. She watched long enough to see him flip the rabbit and shove the tip of the knife into its neck before she turned back to the fire. She hated preparing animals just as much as he seemed to, but if she was going to share the meat, he was putting in some work, and she was all too glad to pass on the bloody task.

By the time he had done a passable job of preparing her kill, the fire was hot. She showed him how to use rocks to lay out the meat on the edge of the fire to cook it.

“You live in the city,” he said. The words weren’t a question, but he looked at her as if trying to understand something.

“Yes,” she said, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. If he was trying to make small talk, she was going to slap him.

“And you know how to do all this.”

“Yes.”

“How often can you possibly find yourself out here needing to hunt to eat?”

She looked at him, this time the one analyzing him. There was such a genuineness and openness in his face that she blinked. “I’ve been hunting to feed my family since I was young. The moment there’s a food shortage, we’re the first to lose rations.”

“Only those who don’t do hard labor,” he said, shaking his head.

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