The forest had settled into one of its quieter moods, the kind where even the insects seemed to lower their voices out of respect for the night. The campfire cracked and popped in the center of the clearing, throwing orange light across faces and tree trunks alike. Shadows stretched, shrank, and stretched again as the flames danced, giving the illusion that the forest itself was leaning in to listen.
Connor lingered at the edge of the clearing.
He didn't step straight in. He never did. Old habits clung tighter than scars. His boots pressed into the dirt with careful weight, each step measured, as if the ground itself might betray him. The smell of cooked food hit him first—simple, earthy, real—and his stomach answered immediately, loud enough that he winced.
He cleared his throat and raised his hands halfway, palms out. Not surrender. Just… politeness. Or at least his version of it.
"Hey… look, I'm sorry for bothering you earlier," he said, voice carrying a faint edge of nerves he hated letting slip. "I was just wondering if I could have some food?"
The firelight revealed four faces turning toward him.
Jer was the first to smile. Not a cautious one. Not a polite one. A real smile—the kind that reached his eyes and stayed there. She stood up without hesitation, brushing dirt off her pants as if Connor had been expected all along.
"Of course," Jer said easily. "You're welcome here."
Connor blinked once. Then twice.
Yora followed with a nod, already shifting closer to the pot by the fire. "Yeah," she added. "Everyone needs to eat."
Patricia didn't say anything at first. She just smiled softly, the firelight catching in her eyes in a way that made the night feel warmer than it had a second ago. When she spoke, it was gentle and certain, like the decision had never been in question.
"Sit down," she said. "We'll share."
Something in Connor's shoulders loosened. Not much—but enough. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and stepped closer to the fire, the heat kissing his shins. For a moment, he almost felt… normal.
Almost.
Then Tomora shifted.
He'd been leaning against a tree, arms crossed, expression unreadable in the flicker of flame. As Connor moved into the light, that expression slowly twisted into something far more dangerous.
A grin.
A sly, sharp, absolutely unnecessary grin.
"So, what?" Tomora called out, voice carrying just enough to cut. "You're a beggar now? Wow, didn't peg you for one of those types."
Connor froze mid-step.
The fire popped. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted, like it was laughing.
Connor's jaw tightened. He straightened, forcing a smile that sat awkwardly on his face, like a borrowed coat that didn't quite fit.
"Yeah, well," he said, voice strained but steady, "even a 'beggar' has his pride, you know?"
Tomora pushed off the tree and took a few lazy steps closer, boots crunching loudly on purpose. He tilted his head, studying Connor like a bug pinned to a board.
"Pride?" Tomora repeated. "You lost all that when you asked for food."
There it was.
The air shifted—not with menace, but with something far more dangerous: familiarity. The kind of tension that didn't come from enemies, but from people who absolutely would not let something slide.
Jer, Yora, and Patricia exchanged a look.
It happened fast.
Three hands moved.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
One landed square on the top of Tomora's head. Another clipped his right cheek. The third smacked his left with impressive synchronization. It was almost beautiful in its execution.
Tomora yelped, stumbling back a step, hands flying up to his face.
"HEY!" he shouted. "What the hell was that for?!"
Jer crossed her arms, expression mock-serious. "Enough, Tomora."
Yora didn't even look sorry. "Don't be rude."
Patricia smiled sweetly. "Let him be."
Tomora stared at them, stunned, rubbing his cheeks like they'd personally offended him.
"For being a jackass," Jer added helpfully.
Connor couldn't stop it.
A laugh slipped out. Quiet at first. Then another. He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself.
"Thanks," he said, voice lighter now. "I appreciate it… and the food too."
Tomora shot him a glare. "Don't get used to it."
"Oh, I don't know," Connor replied, lowering himself near the fire. "I think I could."
They passed him a bowl. Simple stew. Nothing fancy. Connor took the first bite like it might disappear if he didn't hurry, then slowed when he realized it wasn't going anywhere. The warmth spread through him, settling deeper than hunger ever did.
For a while, no one spoke.
The fire crackled. Jer poked at the logs with a stick. Yora leaned back on her hands, staring up through the branches. Patricia hummed softly under her breath. Tomora sulked dramatically, occasionally shooting Connor suspicious looks like he was planning something stupid.
Eventually, Tomora broke the silence.
"So," he said, tone casual in a way that meant it absolutely wasn't. "You always wander around begging strangers for food, or are we special?"
Connor glanced at him over the rim of his bowl. "You? Special?" He smirked. "Yeah. In a tragic way."
Jer snorted. Yora laughed outright. Patricia covered her mouth, failing miserably to hide her smile.
Tomora's eye twitched. "Oh, you think you're funny."
"I know I am," Connor said. "Difference is, I don't need an audience."
Tomora leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Careful. I bite."
Connor gestured vaguely at his scars with the spoon. "Buddy, you'd break your teeth."
There was a beat.
Then Jer burst out laughing, the sound loud and unrestrained. Yora followed, nearly choking. Even Patricia laughed, shaking her head.
Tomora stared at Connor for a long moment.
Then—slowly—he grinned.
"…Alright," Tomora said. "You're annoying. But I'll give you that one."
Connor raised his bowl in mock salute. "High praise."
The night stretched on, filled with small talk and sharp remarks and the kind of laughter that didn't demand anything in return. The forest listened. The fire burned lower. And for the first time in a long while, Connor didn't feel like the road was waiting to swallow him whole the moment he stood up.
Somewhere deep inside, something loosened.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But maybe… the start of it.