Caleb's absence loomed even larger the next morning. The empty chair mocked us, a constant echo of his impulsive nature and our gnawing worry.

Across from me, Kass sat stoic, her breakfast untouched. I could practically feel the frustration radiating off her in waves. She was eager, I knew, every muscle in her body coiled with the desire to be put to use. Every clang of metal during training, every barked order, reminded her of the battles she wasn't fighting. We both knew the charade – neither of us had any appetite. With a shared look, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air, we pushed back from the table and headed for the training grounds.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the grass in a mosaic of light and shadow. The air was crisp, carrying the comforting scent of pine and damp earth. Here, at least, there was a semblance of normalcy. But the weight of Caleb's absence, a constant ache in my chest, threatened to shatter that illusion.

Kass assumed a low stance, her center of gravity firm. With a deep breath, she launched into a series of flowing movements, each shift deliberate and powerful. I mirrored her movements, adrenaline pushing away the tightening knot of worry in my gut. The focus on breath became a mantra, each inhale grounding me, each exhale releasing tension.

We trained in a focused silence, the only sound our own ragged breaths and the rustle of leaves underfoot. Fear, a constant companion these days, gnawed at the edges of my concentration. But with each coordinated movement, I fought back, channeling my anxiety into controlled focus.

As the morning sun reached its zenith, casting its light directly onto the training ground, Marcus emerged from the kitchen into the yard. He stretched his broad shoulders, his weathered face etched with concern that mirrored my own.

"Still no sign of Caleb, then?" he rumbled, his voice gruff but laced with empathy.

I shook my head, my throat tight. "No, Marcus."

He understood. A silent commiseration hung in the air. "Well," he clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the stillness, "wallowing won't bring him back any faster. We need to keep ourselves sharp. Besides, fresh meat would be a welcome change from that watery stew."

He gestured towards the rack of bows and quivers leaning against a nearby tree. "Fancy a spot of hunting, you two?"

The offer sparked a flicker of life in my eyes. Hunting wasn't just about acquiring food; it was a test of skill, a reminder of our self-reliance, a necessity in these harsh times. It was also a chance to clear my head, to focus on something other than the gnawing worry that had become a constant companion.

"We'd be happy to join you," I said, my voice stronger than I felt.

Kass, simply offered a curt nod, her lips pressed into a thin line. But a glint of determination flickered in her steely gaze.

He gestured for us to follow, his weathered face transformed with an almost predatory focus. We plunged deeper into the woods, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. "Look here," Marcus said, stopping abruptly and pointing to a snapped twig half-hidden amongst the undergrowth. "See the clean break? Deer, maybe spooked by something."

"Could it be a predator?" Kass asked, her voice a low murmur.

Marcus grunted, crouching down to examine another sign. "Doesn't look like it. No claw marks or droppings nearby. But keep your eyes peeled." He continued leading us, his movements silent and deliberate. Every so often, he'd point out a telltale sign — a disturbed patch of earth, a feather caught on a branch — each clue whispering a story on the forest breeze.

We learned to move like shadows, mimicking the forest creatures. Suddenly, Marcus held up a hand, signaling us to stop. He crouched low to the ground, examining a series of hoof prints in the soft soil.

"Deer again," he whispered, tracing the indentation with a calloused finger. "See the depth? A young buck, maybe a day old." He looked up at us, his eyes glinting. "Think you two can set a snare for it?"

Kass and I exchanged a glance, a spark of determination flickering in our eyes. "We can try," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

Marcus chuckled, a low rumble that echoed through the trees. "Good. Remember, we don't need brute force here. We need to be clever." He spent the next few minutes guiding us, showing us how to use fallen branches and vines to create a silent snare, one that relied on wit more than weapon.

"We need a thin but strong sapling," I said, scanning the undergrowth. Kass and I worked together, using a sharpened rock to carefully cut a suitable branch. "Now, for the loop," I continued, remembering Finn's demonstration with a length of cord. We used a length of thin, braided vine Kass had found earlier, carefully crafting a loop that would tighten under pressure.

Marcus watched with a hint of surprise, his lips pursed in thought. "Not bad," he finally conceded. "You two learn fast." We finished the snare, incorporating lessons from both Marcus and Finn, using fallen leaves and twigs to camouflage the trigger mechanism.

As the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows through the dense foliage, Marcus led us to a clearing. There, he pointed to barely-visible indentations in the soil. "Boar," he declared, his voice low.

"Boar?" Kass repeated, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. "Aren't those dangerous?"

"Fiercely territorial," Marcus confirmed, his gaze hardening. "But with strategy, they can be outsmarted. Boar have one weakness – their eyesight ain't the best. They rely mostly on their charge and tusks. Now, if one comes charging at you, whatever you do, don't stand with your legs spread." He punctuated his warning with a sharp jab of his finger towards my midriff. "Those tusks are like razor blades. They'll slice right through your aorta, and you'll bleed out faster than you can blink."

A shiver ran down my spine. The image of those deadly tusks ripping through flesh was horrifyingly vivid.

He spent the next half hour outlining their behavior, the importance of using the terrain to our advantage. We practiced herding tactics, using fallen logs and rocks to funnel a potential boar towards a specific path. The drills felt familiar, a strange echo of our combat training, but with a different kind of focus.

Marcus stopped beside a towering oak, his weathered finger tracing the rough bark. "Not everything that fills your belly has fangs," he rumbled. His gaze swept upwards, landing on a cluster of greenish balls nestled amongst the leaves. "Acorns," he declared. "Not the most delectable, but they'll keep you going in a pinch."

Kass and I peered closer. These acorns were smaller than the ones back home, but the basic shape was unmistakable. "Do we just pick them off the tree?" Kass asked, her voice laced with a hint of cautious curiosity.

A chuckle escaped Marcus's lips. "Not quite. Most of the good ones will be on the ground already. Look for signs – disturbed leaves, little chew marks on the shells, those telltale marks of squirrels or other foragers."

He crouched down, his calloused fingers brushing away fallen leaves to reveal a patch of disturbed earth beneath the oak. Nestled amongst the brown detritus were several plump acorns, their shells a rich, burnished brown.

As he carefully picked them up, brushing off the dirt with practiced ease, I couldn't help but chime in. "I remember reading in one of my old books that some oak acorns can be quite bitter if you don't leach out the tannins first. Soaking them for a few days can help remove the bitterness and make them more palatable."

A surprised look flickered across Marcus's face, quickly replaced by a grin. "Well, well, seems the bookworm holds some valuable knowledge after all. You learn something new every day, don't you?" He winked at me, a playful glint in his eyes.

Heat flooded my cheeks, and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

We pressed on through the dense undergrowth. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

"See that fallen log over there?" Marcus asked, gesturing casually to a moss-covered trunk half-hidden by ferns. It seemed an innocuous question, but a flicker of something in his eyes made me pause.

"Yeah," I replied, peering over at the decaying wood.

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"What about it?" Kass, ever vigilant, scanned the surrounding foliage, her brow furrowed.

"That's where I found him," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

Intrigued, I stepped closer to the log. "Who?"

A somber smile touched Marcus's lips. "Finn. Four years ago, right here in this very spot. He was twelve," Marcus continued, his voice laced with a quiet ache. "Emaciated, weak enough a twig could have snapped him. He came from Westwind Vale."

Westwind Vale. The name resonated with a dull throb in my head. A village notorious for its harsh living conditions, its people crushed under the weight of the King's ever-increasing taxes.

"What happened?" Kass inquired, her voice barely a whisper.

Marcus sighed, a heavy weight settling on his broad shoulders. "The King's restrictions on food rations had hit them hard. They were barely scraping by, families forced to share meager meals. Apparently, Finn's family, they had six children. Finn was the youngest..." he hesitated, searching for the words, "...they had to make a choice."

A cold rage bubbled in my gut. To abandon a child to the unforgiving wilderness was an act of unimaginable cruelty. Finn's slight frame, his wiry muscles, it all clicked into place. He'd been denied the very sustenance his body needed to grow strong during his most crucial developmental years.

I couldn't help but blurt out, "Westwind Vale is what, nearly fifty miles from here? He must have been roaming around for a week." The weight of that journey, a starving child lost and alone, sent a shiver down my spine.

"He was lucky I found him," Marcus said, his gaze lingering on the moss-covered log. "Barely clinging to life. It took months to nurse him back to health."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kass flinch. A flicker of regret seemed to shimmer in her eyes. Surely, she was now thinking about all the times she'd scolded Finn for taking food from her without asking, the muttered grumbles about him having a bottomless pit for a stomach. Now, she knew why. Now, she understood the desperation that gnawed at him, a constant hunger that stemmed from a childhood stolen by cruelty.

The weight of his words settled on me like a leaden cloak. Finn's fierce loyalty to the rebellion wasn't just blind faith. It was a debt of life, a fierce commitment to the cause that had saved him from a certain death. Thinking of him now, I saw not just a teammate, but a survivor, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. And in that moment, beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, a silent vow bloomed in my chest – to protect him, to fight for him, just as he undoubtedly would for us.

We moved on, Marcus leading us to a thicket of low-growing bushes. "These here," he announced, pointing to a cluster of bright red berries, "are wild raspberries. Sweet and good for a quick energy boost." He plucked a berry, examining it closely before popping it into his mouth. "Ripe and ready," he declared, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Go ahead, give them a try."

I reached out and picked a berry. It was plump and juicy, and when I bit into it, a burst of sweet tartness flooded my mouth. A welcome change from the bland rations we'd been surviving on.

Kass examined a nearby bush with a frown. "Are all red berries safe to eat?" she asked.

Marcus shook his head. "Not at all. Some can be deadly. Always double-check before you put anything in your mouth. Look for specific shapes, colors, and even the way the leaves grow around the stem."

He spent the next hour guiding us through the forest's undergrowth, a living library of edible treasures. We learned about wild onions, their pungent aroma a stark contrast to the delicate scent of violets. He even pointed out a patch of nettles – "nasty sting," he warned, "but the leaves can be boiled for a surprisingly decent tea."

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in an ethereal golden light, we were laden with a small collection of berries, nuts, and herbs. It wasn't a feast, but it was a testament to the delicate balance of the forest, a reminder that survival could bloom even in the harshest environments.

We followed Marcus deeper into the woods. We moved cautiously, ears pricked for the telltale signs of a boar – the rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig. Minutes ticked by, filled with Marcus's patient instruction and our growing frustration. Just as doubt began to creep in, a low snort echoed through the trees. He pointed towards a thicket of bushes, his eyes narrowed. A dark shape shifted amongst the leaves.

There. A boar. It was a magnificent creature, its black hide bristling with coarse fur, its tusks curving menacingly from its snout. It grunted again, rooting around for something in the undergrowth.

"Stay here," Marcus whispered, a hand on my shoulder. He moved with the silent grace of a predator, disappearing into a nearby stand of trees. We waited, hearts pounding in our chests, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. After what felt like an eternity, a sharp crack echoed through the woods, followed by a thrashing sound.

Moments later, Marcus emerged, wiping a smudge of blood from his cheek. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he gestured towards the fallen boar. "There you have it," he boomed, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Enough for a feast tonight."

Relief washed over me, tinged with a touch of sadness for the magnificent creature. We helped Marcus drag the boar back to the base, a sense of accomplishment warming our chilled bodies. Just as we reached the clearing, Kass stopped short.

"Look!" she exclaimed, pointing towards our snare. A small brown blur darted around at the base of a tree, its frantic movements tightening the loop of vines around its leg. It was a rabbit, its large eyes wide with terror.

A wave of amusement washed over me. "Looks like we have a bonus meal," I said, kneeling down to examine the creature. It thrashed against the snare, a pitiful sight.

Marcus chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that shook his broad shoulders. "Seems your trap worked a treat," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Remember, every bit counts in these times."

We carefully disentangled the rabbit, its trembling subsiding as it realized it was free. For a moment it stood frozen, then with a startled leap it disappeared into the undergrowth. Disappointment flickered across Kass' face.

"Maybe next time," I said, nudging her with my elbow.

We emerged from the trees, the moon reflecting off the impressive boar slung across Marcus's broad shoulders. Relief and a sliver of pride settled in my chest. Not only had we learned valuable skills, but we'd also secured a decent amount of meat.

As we approached the training yard, the warm, inviting aroma of stew wafted through the air. Rounding the corner, we found Finn in the kitchen, stirring something thick and fragrant in a large pot hanging over a crackling fire. He glanced up, a surprised whistle escaping his lips. "Well, well, well," he boomed, his voice laced with amusement. "Looks like someone had a successful hunt."

Marcus grinned, hoisting the boar a little higher. "Got a bit of help from these two, didn't I?" He gestured towards Kass and me, a hint of pride in his voice.

Kass simply offered a curt nod, while I couldn't help but puff out my chest a little. Elyse emerged from the hallway, her white hair catching the moonlight in an ethereal halo. Her eyes widened at the sight of the boar, then darted to each of us, taking in the assortment of berries, nuts, and herbs we carried in makeshift pouches.

A wide smile spread across her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes. She raised her hands, her nimble fingers forming a series of signs – a quick thumbs up followed by a series of interlocking circles, her expression radiating pure joy. It was the sign for "amazing" combined with the sign for "teamwork."

Understanding dawned on me. "Thanks," I called out, returning the gesture with a thumbs up. A warm feeling bloomed in my chest. Even without words, we could still communicate, celebrate our success together.

Finn chuckled, wiping his brow with his forearm. "Alright, alright, enough celebrating for now. Let's get this beast prepped before our stomachs start growling louder than a grizzly bear." He gestured towards a large pot hanging over a crackling fire. "We've got some hungry hunters to feed."

After the boisterous feast, a comfortable quiet settled over the base. Most of the others had retreated to their dorms, lulled into a satisfied stupor by the hearty meal. I, however, felt a restlessness tug at me. With a sigh, I pushed myself away from the dying embers of the fire and wandered aimlessly through the building.

The library beckoned me with its quiet promise of solitude. As I pushed open the creaky wooden door, a sliver of moonlight sliced through the grimy window, illuminating a lone figure hunched over a massive oaken desk. It was Kass.

Unusually quiet, she gripped a quill in her hand, its tip poised over a sheet of parchment. This was a rare sight – Kass lost in anything other than the clang of the forge or the heat of a sparring match.

Curiosity piqued, I approached her cautiously. The rhythmic scratching of the quill ceased as I drew closer. Kass glanced up, surprise crossing her features before a familiar grin stretched across her face.

"Well, look who it is," she boomed, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room.

"Just browsing," I replied, feigning nonchalance. "What are you up to?"

She cast a furtive glance around the room, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Writing a letter," she whispered, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.

"A letter?" I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "To whom? I didn't know you corresponded with anyone."

Kass hesitated for a beat, then a wistful smile softened her features. "Just to Leo," she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur.

Leo. Her little brother. A pang of sympathy stabbed at my heart. It was a constant ache, a raw wound that never fully healed.

"What are you telling him?" I asked gently.

"Just… that I'm not in Eldoria anymore," she said, her gaze flickering back to the parchment. "That I'm safe. Nothing too exciting, just letting him know I'm alright."

I peeked at the letter and noticed she hadn't mentioned our location or the rebellion. A necessary precaution.

"Are you giving it to someone to send?" I inquired, already suspecting the answer.

Kass nodded. "Marcus is going to the market in a few days. I figured he could slip it off at one of the outlying villages."

A flicker of worry crossed my mind. Sending letters, even innocuous ones, was risky. But I knew arguing wouldn't change her mind. Kass fiercely missed her brother, and this small act of connection was probably the only solace she had.

"Sending a letter is risky," I pointed out, my voice firm but laced with concern. "Especially if it falls into the wrong hands. It practically confirms we're alive and the King's men could use it to track us down, or worse, threaten your family."

A tense silence hung in the air. Kass's jaw clenched tight, her eyes flashing with a flicker of defiance. "I know the risks, Kira," she said, her voice low and tight. "But I can't just pretend he doesn't exist. He's my brother. And if this letter gives him a sliver of hope, a chance to know I'm alright… then it's a risk I'm willing to take."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air. I understood her fierce love for her brother, but the potential consequences were chilling. We couldn't afford careless mistakes.

"Just be careful, Kass. We need you, and Leo needs you to be safe too."

I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.