To Eat the Girl
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 2: The Law of Hunger
The storm had begun before he reached the cave. Snow came in long, slanting sheets, driven by a wind that clawed through fur and skin alike. Korr bent low, Lura in his arms, her body light as dry bone. Her leg was stiff, twisted beneath the bindings, her face gray and wet with fever.
The cave’s mouth showed a faint glow—the fire of the tribe. Smoke drifted into the white night, carrying the scent of marrow and tallow. When Korr stumbled inside, the hunters turned as one, their eyes narrow and bright.
Tharn, the chieftain, stood from the fire. His hair was matted with frost, his shoulders wrapped in the hide of a snow bear. The light caught on the bone charms in his beard.
“You come late,” he said. “Empty-handed.”
Korr sank to one knee, lowering Lura near the warmth. Her breath rattled faintly.
Tharn crouched beside the girl. His fingers pressed the swollen flesh of her thigh. She whimpered once and bit her lip.
“The bone is gone,” he said. “It will rot inside her. She cannot walk. She cannot hunt. She cannot bear the march when we move.”
“She lives,” Korr said.
Tharn’s face did not change. “The tribe does not feed what cannot walk.”
No one spoke. The others sat in silence, their faces hollow, the shadows of the fire making their eyes glint like wolves’. In the corner lay the last of their smoked meat—hard, blackened strips not enough for two days.
Tharn stood again, his voice carrying the weight of old law. “The cold takes the weak. We take what it gives.”
It was not said plainly, but everyone understood.
Korr’s throat tightened. The world seemed to close around the sound of the fire—its hiss, its crack, the faint pop of resin. Lura’s fingers twitched in the furs, her eyes half-open, unfocused. He knew she heard.
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