Kaara had woken up to a cold dinner after her fight with Sancta last night. A cold dinner she had not bothered to eat in the end. How had Gornax ever thought she could get through to someone like Sancta? It was already clear that she was the last person Sancta had wanted to comfort her.

Now here she was again, sitting in her secret hiding spot where no one could bother her. One part of her wished that the bat drake would come by again, the other part of her didn’t want them to. She had been trying to roll with the punches around the Xirxus and other nobility for so long. She already knew how the nobility tended to act when they came to her camp. She had grown up dealing with every pompous dickwad that wandered into the forest looking at her and her family as if they were some sort of exotic attraction.

Kaara was sick of it all. She was sick of dealing with them, sick of trying to befriend them. Of giving and giving and giving. All while they just greedily kept taking from her without anything back.

The only time those nobles ever gave anything to them was the compulsory gift giving ceremony on the eve of the Siren Ceremony. Throw a shiny sword at the tibur, some silk clothing, sturdy armor, or expensive drink and they had successfully paid their way out of a real connection.

Kaara used to like the gifts, until she realized what they replaced. When had she become so cynical? Maybe she had injured her soul last night fighting Sancta. This was supposed to be the happiest time of the year and it always had been, but she only felt bitter and resentful. She remembered the way Sancta cried. Who was she, thinking she had any right to do that? Kaara had stayed strong. She had rolled with the punches, and treated Sancta with care. And yet she had cried from being teased once.

Just thinking about it was making her blood boil again. She shoved those thoughts to the side. She would just avoid Sancta from now on. She had to limit her time with Amaro and his brothers too. That was fine with her, though. She couldn’t let her current thoughts leak out. If she did, they might cut ties with her before they changed for the better.

So long as she could enjoy these last ten days with her good friends she was content with being frustrated for now.

She wondered if Rorik had secluded himself like she was right now. Maybe she should pay him a visit. Knowing how she felt, though, she doubted Rorik would want her to bother him. She didn’t have the energy to absorb other people’s problems anyway.

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She dug her face into her knees. It was oddly warmer down here than it was outside. It almost felt like being in that place again. The place her dreams took her to. A dark and gentle void where there was no up, down, left, or right.

It was just like the place she visited before and after the visions induced by the scrolls. What was that place?

The smell of food hit her nose, warm air pushing into her hiding place. Kaara looked up, hearing the muffled pops and cracks of a campfire. She crawled out of the hole towards the light, poking her head out over the top. In the center of her vision was a small campfire boiling a pot of what smelled like soup broth. However, the cook was nowhere to be seen, and neither were their footprints.

Lured by the smell of good food, Kaara trudged forward. She heard the crinkle of parchment in her ear as the wind blew south. She turned to see a note stuck to the roots by an old beaten up dagger.

You are not alone, the note read, Your efforts will be rewarded someday, so don’t give up. Help yourself to the soup. It’s made with Meirashroom and deer bone broth. It’s my favorite and I think you’ll like it too.

P.S.

Feel free to keep the dagger too, I have a spare.

There was no signature at the bottom, and Kaara did not recognize the handwriting. She looked around again. Who could have written the letter? There were no tracks in the snow, Amaro and the other nobles would have made sure she knew it was them.

The knife was not something she could have found around camp either. It was bronze with a solid oak wood handle and a leather strap. Whoever used to own it had gotten a lot of mileage out of it too. She smiled at it, she would keep it as a reminder that someone was looking after her.

She stood over the bubbling pot of soup, taking the pot off the flame with a nearby stick and cooling the small pot in the snow. It was a light brown color with a few slices of white mushrooms floating about. There were some other ingredients in it too, and they all mixed together so well to create a fantastic fragrance.

Her stomach growled to be fed, and after testing the heat she drank it off the rim. She squealed to herself, kicking her legs and thumping her tail around in the snow. It was good. It was fantastic, in fact. She wanted to take big gulps of it, but seeing how little of it there was, she paced herself.

When the soup had finally drained, she felt a lot better. She was warm, and all of the problems she had seemed to have washed away with the salty taste of the deer bone broth.

Empty pot in hand, she whispered a quick prayer for the deer, and whoever had given her the meal. She slipped the knife into an empty strap on her waist and headed back to camp. She had woken up early to seclude herself, but the sun was already climbing towards its peak.