THE LUNA THEY’LL NEVER LOVE

28: NASHYN AGE SIX

NASHYN AGE 6

My fingers were cold and wrinkled from the pond water, all pruney like old people skin.

I’d been standing here for hours, maybe even longer.

The sun was going down again, painting everything orange and pink, and my stomach felt like a big empty hole that kept getting bigger. It hurt in a way that made me want to curl up, but I couldn’t.

It had been over ten days now.

Ten whole days with no real food. Just some leaves that tasted like dirt and those bad red berries that made Crowen’s face swell up like a balloon. I had to catch something. Anything. Even a tiny fish would help. We could split it three ways and maybe feel a little less empty for one night.

I tied my dirty trousers at the knees like I saw the older boys do once back home during summer training. The fabric was stiff with mud and smelled bad, but I stood in the shallow part of the pond anyway, hands ready in the water. The water was so cold it made my legs ache and my teeth chatter really loud. I kept them clenched tight so they wouldn’t make too much noise. I stayed as still as I could, watching the water for any little movement or flash of silver.

“Come on,” I whispered under my breath. “Just one. Please. We really need it.”

Time passed so slow. My legs got tired and started shaking. The cold crept up higher and higher until it felt like it was in my bones. Hope started slipping away little by little.

What if there were no fish in this pond?

What if we had to go another night with nothing but more leaves?

Crowen was still weak from the berries. His face was less puffy now but he moved slower. Vizellan tried not to show it, but I could tell he was hurting bad. He kept pressing his hands to his belly when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I almost gave up. I almost walked back to the clearing empty-handed, ready to tell them I was sorry and that maybe tomorrow would be better. My eyes were getting blurry from staring at the water so long.

Then I felt it. A wiggle against my hands, quick and slippery. I moved fast, scooping and grabbing with both hands.

A small fish!

It was silver and flapping hard, trying to get away. I held it tight against my chest, laughing even though it was tiny. Better than nothing. I could share it three ways. We could eat tonight.

“I got one!” I yelled, even though no one could hear me yet. “I got a fish!”

I ran back through the trees as fast as my tired legs would go. My bare feet slapped against the dirt and roots, heart beating fast with excitement. Branches scratched my arms but I didn’t care.

The clearing came into view between the trees and I stopped dead in my tracks.

There was a dead bear cub on the ground.

It was small, probably a baby.

Blood was everywhere — soaked into the grass, on the dirt, all over my cousins’ legs and arms and even their faces. Crowen and Vizellan were bent over it, tearing into the raw meat with their teeth like wild animals.

They looked mad. Like scavengers from the scary stories the maids told when our fathers weren’t listening.

Their hands and mouths were covered in blood, dripping down their chins. Their eyes looked glassy and desperate, like they weren’t really them anymore.

The fish slipped from my hands and fell into the sand with a soft plop.

I felt like throwing up.

The smell was strong. Coppery and warm and gross, filling up my nose and making my stomach twist even worse.

But they were eating. They were so hungry. I knew they probably felt sick doing it too, just like I did watching them.

Crowen looked up first. His face was still a little puffy from the bad berries, but his eyes met mine. Vizellan kept chewing slowly, tears running down his dirty cheeks even while he ate the bloody meat.

But he didn’t stop. Neither of them said anything. They just looked at me with those big, tired eyes.

I swallowed hard. The bile rose in my throat but I pushed it down.

We were in this together.

Cousins. Brothers in all but name. Torvains.

That’s what our fathers always said. We had to be strong like them.

I walked over slowly, my feet feeling heavy. I knelt beside them in the bloody grass, reached out with shaking hands and ripped a chunk of warm, slippery meat from the cub. It felt gross in my fingers, all wet and stringy. I brought it to my mouth anyway.

The taste was awful. Metallic and gross, like old coins and dirt mixed together. My stomach twisted hard and I almost spit it out.

But I chewed, and I forced myself to swallow.

I met Vizellan’s gaze. Tears were still in his eyes, making tracks through the blood and dirt on his face.

He looked so sad even while eating.

I tried to smile at him but it felt wrong on my face.

We were six. We shouldn’t be doing this. We should be at home eating warm bread and soup, not tearing into a dead baby bear with our teeth.

But we had to.

I took another bite.

We ate together in silence, bloody hands and bloody mouths, the three of us against the whole forest.

No matter how bad it got. No matter how much it hurt or how sick it made us feel.

We would survive.

Together.