Sophia returned, her arms heavy with what looked like dead rabbits, their fur matted with dried blood. She dropped them beside the small clearing where Izikel and Lyzah sat, then knelt to start a fire. The flickering flames brought warmth and light, pushing back the creeping cold of the night. Her movements were efficient, practiced—skinning, gutting, and preparing the meat with a quiet resolve that spoke of someone used to survival in harsh environments.
She also brought back a flask filled with water. "It's from the stream west of here," she said, handing it to Izikel. "I didn't see anything nearby, but that doesn't mean it's safe."
"Thanks," he muttered, his voice hoarse as he took a swig, then passed it to Lyzah.
They ate in silence at first. The meat was tough, slightly gamey, but it filled their bellies and restored some strength to their exhausted bodies. The fire cracked and popped as the moonlight danced through the canopy overhead.
