Weijie lifted the pot using a folded piece of hide and set it on the flat stone they used as a table. He ladled the stew into two wooden bowls with the gravity of a man performing a ritual, and handed Ningning hers with both hands.
She wrapped her fingers around the warm bowl and inhaled.
They ate in silence.
The fire burned low and steady. Outside, the wind had begun to pick up against the mountain.
The stew was simple.
Elk, wild ginger, mountain onions, rock salt. But inside a warm cave with winter pressing closer every day, it tasted better than anything.
Ningning set her empty bowl down with a long satisfied sigh.
Weijie immediately looked at her ankle.
"It's fine." she said.
"You winced earlier."
"That was my thinking face."
He gave her a look that made it very clear he did not believe that. Then he reached over and adjusted the folded hide under her ankle by half a centimeter.
She let him. It was easier than arguing and she understood it made him feel less guilty.
