It was the last week of the hunt, the stretch of days that always felt longer than it should, when everyone was tired enough to start lying to themselves about how close home really was.
The cart was nearly full now, stacked high with bundled meat and stiffening leather, everything tied down tight and covered against the cold, the load creaking softly whenever it was moved.
They would be going home tomorrow. Or the next day. That was what Aaron said, the same way he always said it, with a certainty that never quite held.
"Just two more," he had muttered earlier while cleaning the blade, his hands steady, his eyes already elsewhere.
"Always two more," Iyisha sighed. Words slipping out of her like a reflex, sharp with fatigue and something close to bitterness, because that phrase had started to feel cursed.
No matter how much they hauled back, no matter how heavy the cart grew, there was always something missing, something needed, something just out of reach.
