The cave was dim, the air smelling of wet earth and the sharp, medicinal tang of the brew Numa had forced on her.
Ningning looked at the mud pot again and felt a wave of pure exhaustion. "It's trash," she muttered.
The texture was all wrong now, gritty and separated. "All that for nothing. I lost the pots, I broke my leg, and I'm still going to be freezing in a month." She thought to herself.
Weijie sat her down, motionless against the damp stone wall of the cave, her eyes tightly shut.
The thick bison fur she was wrapped in felt heavy, like a shroud. Her breath was shallow, and the sharp, rhythmic throb in her ankle pulsed in time with the flickering embers of the dying fire.
Standing at her feet was Weijie. His massive chest heaved, his bronze skin slick with rain, and his jaw set so tight it looked like stone.
He stared at her splinted ankle, his eyes dark with a mix of fury and helplessness.
[Look, Ningning, let's be real,] Doudou's voice rang in her head, crisp and bored.
