Page 6 of On Burning Paths

I miss her so much it hurts.

I’d give almost anything to sit across from her right now. To watch her consider what I'd say. To find out whether she would laugh or go quiet or reach across and take my hand.

A pang of grief moves through me, quiet and familiar, as it always does when I catch myself reaching for her.

"Nyx."

I look up. Thorian is watching me carefully. "Where did you go?

"Nowhere," I say. "Just thinking."

He accepts that with a nod, and we sit in a companionable quiet until movement at the cave entrance makes us both look up.

Fenric reappears, slightly out of breath, and drops to his knees and spreads his findings between us. Wild mushrooms and onions, crab apples, more berries, a handful of walnuts. Not a feast. But more than nothing.

"Couldn't find anything that runs," he says, "but this should help." He reaches for a mushroom, then stops and holds up a hand before I can do the same. "Let me cook them first. Some of these need heat before they're safe."

I pull my hand back, and Fenric sets to work, and I watch him, and somewhere across the small fire Thorian watches me watching him, and none of us say anything at all.

“Take some berries,” he says, and I do, grabbing a handful and popping them into my mouth as he disappears. He returns with several sticks and a large stone. He fashions a contraption over the fire and takes the mushrooms and onions, placing them on the stone. Soon, the cave fills with the scent of them.

Thorian and I snack on the apples, crack open the walnuts, and eat the berries while Fenric pushes the cooking mushrooms and onions around on the stone, browning them on all sides.

“Where did you find all this?” Thorian asks, when Fenric spears the mushrooms and onions on a stick and hands it to me to eat. Thorian catches my wrist, stilling me and preventing me from taking the first bite, his eyes focused on the mushrooms before giving me a look that says, wait until I try it first.

I ignore him. I trust Fenric, so I pop one of the mushrooms into my mouth. The men pause, watching me chew. Fenric wears a look of pride, and Thorian wears one of trepidation. Having both their gazes on my lips makes me flush, and I fight not to make a noise of pleasure at the taste of the food.

“This is the second time you’ve eaten something without concern,” Thorian mutters, as I swallow and smile at them.

“It’s good,” I say to Fenric, who nods and hands the second stick to Thorian, who takes it with slightly less trepidation. “I ate the mushrooms because I trust Fenric. He knows what he’s talking about, clearly.”

Thorian mutters under his breath, while Fenric tries not to beam at the compliment. I want to gather them both up in my arms. Perhaps it’s ridiculous to find the men, both of whom could snap me like a toothpick, adorable, but I do.

As he wraps the remaining food in a cloth and tucks it into the knapsack, Fenric says, “My father and I used to do this frequently. It was rare that we could hunt, but my father just had an eye for this sort of thing. And with how much food it took to feed a family of berserkers, we needed it.” Fenric chuckles, smiling sadly. “My little brother and sister would sit at the door like puppies, waiting for us to get home each night. It took a long time until my eye got as good as my father’s. I miss those walks with him.”

My heart squeezes. Our situations might be different, but Fenric and I are experiencing much the same thing. Missing our families, and risking everything to get them back.

“What if your family is dead already?” Thorian asks in a tone so flat it’s nearly deadpan. He finishes off an onion in a single bite and looks up, clearly not aware of how insensitive his question has come off.

“Thorian,” I hiss, frowning. “That’s cruel.”

“I’m not saying this to be unkind,” Thorian drops the stick into the fire and crosses his arms, leveling a gaze at Fenric, “but practical. Surely you know how they treat the slaves. They don’t last long, with what they have to go through… the harsh physical labor, the punishments, the unclean living conditions, the lack of food… it’s just a lot to endure.”

“Yes,” Fenric says, his voice turning throaty, his gaze dropping to the fire. “I’m aware. Maybe it’s foolish to go through with the trials, even knowing that they might be dead, but I have to. I don’t even want to imagine a life without them. They motivate me to be a good man. To be a good person. We’ve gone through everything together. My siblings, my parents, they’re my guiding light. Without that motivation in my life, I don’t know who I would be.”

“I understand.” Thorian nods, staring off into the distance for a moment, his dark eyes unfocusing for a moment, then fixing on something in the distance I can’t see. “Alone… it’s a dark place to be.”

I stare at him, trying to read that expressionless, stoic face for some sign. For an indication of what that might mean. Does he have any other family besides his dad? Does he know what it’s like to operate without that guiding light, that motivation?

“Is that why you’re so motivated to win this?” I ask, thinking of Thorian’s preference for godhood. Perhaps, by going from demi-god to full deity, he could help those he cares about most. “For your family?”

But instead of answering, Thorian stands, kicking dirt into the almost-gone fire. He either doesn't hear my question, or pretends he doesn't.

"We should get moving," he says, his eyes flicking down to the stick still in my hand, the makeshift kabob. "You going to eat that?"

Fenric laughs when I offer the food to Thorian, then takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. His hand is still warm, but nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday.

We're halfway through gathering our things when a scream cuts through the distant forest. It’s high and sharp, then gone. The three of us go still at the same time.