After the last hunt, they had returned to their hideout, the only place where they felt more or less safe for the night. It was already their second evening there — and, for once, dinner tasted like victory.
A real feast awaited them.
They were sharing the remaining elk meat hunted that morning. They'd salvaged all four legs — two had been devoured at dawn, and the other two were already roasting over the fire, their fatty aroma filling the makeshift shelter.
Maggie sat alone, perched on a rock a bit off to the side, arms resting on her knees, keeping a close eye on her portion of meat as it grilled just the way she liked it — slowly, evenly, until the smell was strong enough to wake the appetite of a dead man. The fire crackled softly in front of her, casting dancing light across her closed-off face. Not a word escaped her lips.
