That afternoon, the fire had died. The air was cold and still.
Elyra was the first to stand. She did not speak. She simply looked deep into the forest, where the giant ancient trees were interwoven like sleeping giants, then looked back at Lycaon. A silent question in her eyes.
Lycaon sat motionless for a long moment. Instinct told him to go alone. Solitude was safest. But he looked down at his crippled leg, felt the dull ache from his unhealed wounds. He knew that alone, he wouldn't get far.
Finally, he laboriously stood up, did not look at her, and began to limp forward.
They began their journey. Lycaon went first; though he limped, he unconsciously placed himself between her and the dangers that lay ahead. Elyra followed behind, keeping a safe distance.
They walked on like that in silence. The bond between them was woven not with words, but with an unspoken division of labor.
When thirst began to gnaw at them, it was Elyra who led the way. She didn't wander aimlessly but observed signs that only a seasoned woods-dweller would know: the flight path of a small bird at dusk, the dark green moss that only grew in damp places. She led Lycaon to a crevice in the rocks, and just as she had predicted, a small, clear stream was trickling through it. He didn't drink immediately. He stood at the stream's edge, listening, his eyes scanning the surroundings, searching for any sign of beasts. Only after he was certain it was safe did he bend down to drink, then moved back, a silent gesture allowing her to drink.
When hunger tormented them, he took the lead. He found a small animal trail. He turned to Elyra, a meaningful glance. She understood, handing him the small coil of rope she had patiently woven over the past few days from the strongest vines. He took it without a word, then used it to make a simple snare. A few hours later, they had a rabbit. He killed it quickly, without emotion, then brought it back to where they had made temporary camp. He was about to tear it apart and eat it raw, the habit of a wild beast.
But Elyra gently approached. She said nothing, only held out her hand. Lycaon hesitated for a moment, then handed her the rabbit.
She used a sharp piece of rock she always kept with her, starting the work without a hint of hesitation. The clean cuts, the swift way she separated the skin from the flesh, showed this was not the first time she had done this. She showed that she was no frail lady. She too was a survivor. She used her two pieces of flint, patiently creating a spark, and then roasted the rabbit.
While waiting for the meat to cook, she saw that the wounds on Lycaon's hands had started bleeding again. She took the piece of cloth from the day before, washed it clean in the stream, and then approached him.
Lycaon's entire body tensed. He growled like a cornered beast, his single good eye flashing with a lethal defensiveness.
Elyra didn't flinch. She just sat down, her gaze gentle and steady, without a trace of fear. After a moment of silent struggle, the defensive wall around Lycaon seemed to crack. He slowly relaxed.
She gently cleaned his wounds. Blood and dirt were washed away, leaving behind pale skin and old scars. It was the first physical contact between them, a contact not of violence, but of care. For Lycaon, the feeling was both foreign and frightening, but also… a little warm.
They sat around the fire, eating the roasted rabbit in silence. For Lycaon, this was the first hot meal in a time so long he couldn't remember. The fragrant smell of roasted meat unconsciously stirred a distant memory of a family meal. A fleeting pain, sharp as a knife's cut, passed through him, but he quickly suppressed it, burying it deep in the bottom of his ashen soul.
As the fire was dying down, this time, it was Lycaon who picked up a dry branch and tossed it into the flames. A small gesture, but it showed he had begun to think of this fire as "ours."
That night, as they were settling down to rest, a howl echoed from the distance.
Elyra flinched, fear evident in her eyes.
Lycaon said nothing. He simply picked up a large, heavy river stone and placed it right beside where he lay. Then, he turned back to the fire, his face still cold and silent.
But Elyra saw the action. She understood. It was a wordless promise. A promise of protection.
She looked at the stone, then at him. A faint, fragile smile appeared on her lips for the first time. They were still in their separate worlds, but tonight, their two worlds had touched.