“A type of bird. It lived in the high branches,” he replies. “Fast. Difficult to catch.”
I glance at the meat again. “And now it’s lunch.”
“Yes.” He takes a bite.
I pick up a piece. Rythar watches as my hand slows as the meat nears my face.
"You do not like the smell," he says.
"I didn't say that,” I say, embarrassed.
"Your face said it."
"It's fine," I say. "I'll just eat it anyway."
He sets his own piece down. "No."
"No?"
"Do not eat something you do not want. You are in the Green Reach now. In my jungle."
I bristle at the phrase. "Your jungle."
"Our jungle."
"That’s not better."
He does not rise to it. He watches my hands instead, the way they have folded in my lap.
"You are thin," he says. “You must eat when you are hungry.”
"I'm fine."
"You have been eating the same food for a long time. I could have it synthesized for you, if you prefer. I thought you would like variety."
Heat crawls up my neck. He has access to all the records in my scraped datachip. "You read my records."
"I read what was scanned."
I pick the meat back up just to spite him and take a bite. It’s not bad. It’s not good, either. I chew hard. "New Terra fed me fine," I say. "I'm alive." I take another nibble.
He tilts his head. "You were fed because you were prioritized for evacuation."
I stop chewing. I want to throw what’s left of the meat at him. I want to tell him he doesn't know what he's talking about.
But the ration tiers are in my mind. The shelves where some got more than others. Where all food was allotted based on your usefulness. I swallow the bite I’m chewing and chase it with water.
Rythar notices that I don’t reach for anything else. "Would you prefer your New Terra rations?" he asks.
"No," I admit irritably.
"Then eat."
"You can't bribe me with food, Rythar."
"It is not a bribe. It is food. I have a great deal of it. You are hungry. The equation is not complicated."
"It's complicated to me."
