"Sol!" she gasped softly, and before anyone could stop her, she rushed to his side, nearly tripping over the mat in the process. "You're really awake! I thought… I thought you wouldn't wake up again!"
Her voice trembled, soft and breathless, every word spilling over the next. She knelt beside him, holding the berry bundle against her chest like a forgotten thought.
"I'm fine," he said, though the way her eyes glistened made him feel like a liar.
She sniffed, nodding too quickly. "Really? You're sure? You don't look fine."
He chuckled. "Well, I look better than dead, right?"
That got a small laugh out of her, shaky but still cute.
She sniffed and nodded, hair falling in her face. "You promise you won't—won't disappear again?"
He laughed under his breath. "I'll try."
Meanwhile, Arelia just smiled faintly, shaking her head. "You see, Liora, I told you he was strong enough. The river always finds its way."
Veyra snorted. "More like he'll trip and drown first."
Arelia just sighed. "You should try kindness sometime."
"Kindness doesn't keep you alive," Veyra muttered.
"Veyra," Arelia said, her voice still calm but firmer now. "Enough."
"What? I'm just saying," Veyra muttered, crossing her arms, but she didn't push it further.
Lyra, who had been tending the fire silently, finally spoke. "You three should rest. Tomorrow will be long. The forest doesn't feed those who wake late."
Her tone carried quiet authority, and even Veyra didn't argue this time. The daughters nodded, setting down their foraged goods and moving around the room in a smooth, familiar rhythm.
For the first time since waking in this world, he saw what life looked like here. The routine. The rhythm. The unspoken coordination between them.
The three girls started sorting their stuff, moving around the firelight like they'd done it forever. It was messy, but in a good way. Real.
Liora dropped her basket with a heavy thud, wiping sweat from her forehead. Arelia followed, lowering a large bundle wrapped in broad leaves.
Lyra looked at the bundle with a mix of relief and anxiety. She peeled back the leaves to reveal a significant haul... not just berries, but the carcass of a River-Hog. It was small, but it was fresh meat, a rare luxury for their family.
"The spirits blessed us," Lyra said, but her voice was tight. She touched the meat; it was already warm from the humid air. "But the heat is cruel today. We must cook all of it tonight and eat what we can."
"Eat all of it?" Liora whined, rubbing her stomach. "We can't! It's too much."
"If we don't, the rot-flies will take it by morning," Veyra snapped, though she looked pained at the waste. "We have no salt to cure it. We'll gorge tonight and starve next week. That's the way it is."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The cycle of feast and famine was a brutal law of the primitive world. They had wealth right in front of them, but no way to keep it.
Sol watched them from his spot on the furs. He stayed seated, feigning the lethargy of recovery, but his mind was racing. He knew exactly what to do.
"We aren't eating it all," Sol said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the gloom. "And we aren't letting it rot."
Veyra rolled her eyes. "Oh? You have a plan? Are you going to ask the rot-flies nicely to stay away?"
Sol ignored the jab. He sat up straighter, wincing slightly for effect, but his eyes remained sharp.
"We smoke it," Sol commanded.
"Smoke?" Lyra asked, confused. "You mean burn it?"
"No. Preserve it," Sol explained, his voice taking on a calm, rhythmic cadence that drew them in. "Fire cooks. Smoke seals. It drives out the water and the flies. If we build a rack over a low fire and use green wood, the meat will last for weeks."
"That's nonsense," Veyra scoffed, reaching for the knife to hack the beast apart. "I'm not wasting good meat on your fever dream experiments."
Sol narrowed his eyes. He didn't have the strength to stop her physically without breaking his cover. So, he turned towards aunt, he knew that she was very tolerating of him.
Lyra hesitated a bit, but seeing his confident face she turned to Veyra and said, let's do as he say.
Vera wanted to argue but seeing, Lyra's stern eyes, she swallowed the words back in her throat.
"Fine," she muttered, looking away. "But if it spoils, it's on him."
Seeing this Sol smiled and spoke. "Arelia, get the green wood—branches that haven't dried. Liora, help me strip the bark. Veyra, build a tripod over the hearth."
From his seated position, Sol directed them like a general. He showed them how to slice the meat into thin strips to maximize the surface area. He taught them which leaves to burn to add flavor rather than soot.
An hour later, the hut was filled with a thick, aromatic haze. The strips of hog meat hung in rows over the smoldering green wood, turning a rich, dark mahogany. The smell wasn't the usual scent of charred flesh; it was savory, complex, and mouth-watering.
Lyra stared at the rack, then at Sol.
"It's... drying," she whispered, touching a piece. "But it's still soft. it's amazing."
Other also took turn and tasted it and were equally amazed, even Veyra, just crunched her nose and didn't say anything.
He just simply sat there, watching quietly, feeling great deal of accomplishment.
This was life here.
No tech, no bullshit, no background music. Just people who worked all day, so they didn't starve tomorrow.
And they didn't just live together… they survived together.
Yeah, it was chaos out there. Monsters, cold, hunger, death waiting with open arms. But in here? For a few moments at least, it felt like a home.
And somehow, sitting there watching them, Sol felt both like an outsider and… strangely at home.
...
After finally sorting everything out, they sat together and it started eating. Dinner wasn't anything fancy. No roasted cartoon tomahawk meat, no stew bubbling in a pot… just roasted hog scraps and fruit. Wild ones they'd also brought back, different shapes, different colors, some bright, some dull, but nevertheless, none he could actually recognize.
They didn't look like the ones back home either… no perfect supermarket gloss, no stickers or names. Just raw, uneven things ripped straight from trees. Some were too sour, some too sweet, some had this weird smoky aftertaste that was… actually kinda addictive.
They ate a bit of meat first, then stored the remaining one for later and continue eating fruits, as they were easily available compared to meat.
He also took a bite and blinked. "This one tastes… different," he muttered, chewing slowly. "Can't even explain it. Just… weird."
Lyra smiled faintly, seated cross-legged near the fire, slicing another fruit open with a bone knife. The orange glow hit her cheekbones just right, softening the weariness in her face. "You'll get used to it," she said quietly. "Our trees feed us well, if we respect them."
He nodded, not sure what that meant but too hungry to question philosophy.
Lyra passed him the largest share. A small pile of the sweetest ones, the kind that left a faint honey taste on his tongue. "Eat," she said. "You need strength more than anyone."
He looked down at the bowl, then at the others. The girls had smaller shares… noticeably smaller.
Before he could say anything, Veyra's voice cut in, sharp as always.
"Why does he get the best ones?" she said, narrowing her eyes. "He didn't even worked."
Lyra wasn't surprised, it was almost a daily routine by now. So she didn't even look up from cutting. "Because he's hurt," she said simply. "He needs energy. You're strong enough to last a night."
Veyra scoffed, crossing her arms. "Hurt or not, he's got both hands, doesn't he? Can still chew."
Arelia gave her a small look… not angry, not scolding, just tired. "Let him eat, Veyra. We can find more tomorrow. The forest always gives back what it takes."
"Yeah, unless it decides to eat us instead," Veyra muttered, but she went quiet, tearing a piece of fruit with her teeth.
Arelia leaned over and placed one extra fruit near him, her expression soft. "You need this more than I do," she said gently. "You've lost more than just strength."
He wanted to say something… a thank-you, maybe… but the words didn't fit. He just nodded, awkwardly.
Liora, meanwhile, was quiet the whole time. Sitting beside him, nibbling on her fruit like a squirrel, eyes flicking between everyone. She kept glancing at his pile.
He caught her once… then again… and realized what was coming.
Sure enough, the moment the others turned away, she snuck her hand out, grabbed one of the smaller fruits from his bowl, and popped it into her own with lightning speed.
He stared. She froze mid-chew as their eyes met.
Her expression said don't tell, wide and innocent and slightly filled with mischief.
He couldn't help it. He laughed… quietly under his breath, shaking his head. "You little thief," he whispered.
She stuck out her tongue, trying not to smile. "You had too many anyway," she whispered back, voice soft and breathy.
Lyra's voice cut through from across the fire. "Liora. Eat slowly."
"Yes, mother," she said quickly, cheeks puffed full of stolen fruit.
They fell into a strange, quiet rhythm after that. The sound of chewing, the crackle of fire, the occasional distant howl outside. Simple, warm, human.