Well. Mostly safe. Torin would have a scar and a story, but he'd be fine.
Could have been worse. Deer that size can gut a wolf if they catch you wrong.
I pushed the thought away and focused on the work.
By the time we had the meat sectioned and the drying racks built, the sun was already sinking toward the horizon. Daska had confirmed the cave was sound—deep enough for all of us, no signs of bears or mountain cats, stable rock overhead. We'd moved everything inside: the racks, the meat, our packs, and built a fire that crackled and smoked, filling the cave with warmth and the rich smell of venison.
I positioned the racks carefully, making sure the smoke would cure the meat without cooking it, then settled near the fire with the others. My hands were still sticky with blood despite washing them in snow, my muscles pleasantly tired from the hunt and the work that followed.
This was the best part—the aftermath, when the hard work was done and we could eat and rest and enjoy what we'd accomplished.
Daska dropped down beside me with a satisfied grunt, stretching his legs toward the fire. "Four deer," he said, grinning. "Not bad for a day's work."
"Could have been five if you'd moved faster," I said.
He shoved my shoulder, laughing. "Could have been three if I hadn't saved your ass."
"I didn't need—"
"You absolutely did."
The others were watching us with varying degrees of amusement, and I felt the warmth of pack settling around us like a blanket. Jarak was already threading meat onto sticks for roasting. Miska had found a skin of something fermented from the last trade gathering and was passing it around. Even Torin,his arm bound and probably throbbing, looked pleased with himself.
"To the hunt," I said, raising the skin when it came to me. "And to pack."
"To pack," they echoed, and we drank.
The drink burned pleasantly going down, harsh and warming, and I passed the skin to Daska. He took a long pull, then handed it back to Miska.
Before the main part of the meal, I passed around a stick with chunks of raw liver skewered on it. The others had been carefully packed away, but as the hunters, we were entitled to some of the choicest morsels as our reward for a good job done. Each took a piece, and I took the last, chewing on the rich, raw meat. The liver was good—iron-rich and tender, the taste of it primal and satisfying in a way that cooked meat never quite matched. I swallowed and licked the blood from my fingers, watching the fire throw shadows across the cave walls.
Jarak pulled the first of the roasting sticks from the fire and tore into the meat with his teeth, grease running down his chin. "Gods, that's good," he groaned. "Better than anything we've had in weeks."
"That's because you've been eating Miska's cooking," Fen said, and Miska threw a bone at his head.
"My cooking is fine."
"Your cooking is why I spend half my time shitting in the woods."
"That's because you eat like a starving bear. No offense, Daska."
Daska raised his hands in mock surrender. "None taken. Bears have excellent digestion."
The laughter that rippled through the cave was easy, unforced as we relaxed. We ate the fresh meat roasted over the fire—rich and fatty and perfect after a day of hard hunting. Daskahad found wild onion and some kind of bitter herb that actually tasted good when roasted with the venison. The occasional gust of wind blew through the cave, but we were facing away from the storm, and the fire burned steadily. Outside, rain began to fall, quietly at first, then heavier, but we ate well, talking and laughing, the warmth of the fire and full bellies making the storm merely background noise.
"So," Miska said, grinning at Fen across the fire, "when are you going to stop sniffing around Kerra and actuallydosomething about it?"
Fen's face went red. "I'm not—"
"You absolutely are," Jarak cut in, laughing. "Every time she walks past you go silent and stare like you've forgotten how words work."
"She's not interested," Fen muttered.
"Won't know unless you ask," Torin said, waving a piece of meat on his good hand. "Worst she can do is say no."
"Or laugh," Miska added helpfully.
"Or tell everyone in the pack and make it awkward forever," Jarak said.
