Chapter 10: A Night’s Bounty

Mark moved quickly through the trees, his heart still pounding from the confrontation. The farm guard's angry shouts had faded into the distance, but the man's warning still echoed in his ears.

"Next time, I break your damn skull."

It wasn't an idle threat. These men weren't afraid to get violent, and Mark knew he had to be careful. One misstep, one careless mistake, and he could end up paying a price he couldn't afford.

Yet, despite the risk, a grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

He didn't catch me. And I got what I needed.

The wheat stalk—roots intact—was safe in the farm's storage. It was a small victory, but an important one. If it could take root in their own soil, it might mean a step toward something greater. Toward survival. Toward independence.

Ahead, Isabelle and Maggie were crouched behind a fallen log, their wide eyes locked onto him as he emerged from the shadows.

"You okay?" Isabelle whispered, her small hands clutching at her dress.

"Yeah." Mark dusted off his sleeves, glancing back toward the fields before lowering his voice. "But we need to move. Now."

Laughter in the Dark

Before Mark could take another step, Isabelle suddenly grabbed his hand, her voice rising in urgency.

"Run, Mark! They're coming!"

She bolted, nearly dragging him along. Mark chuckled, scooping her up in his arms as he ran.

"Oh no! The ghosts are after us!" he whispered in an exaggerated tone.

"Don't say that!" Isabelle gasped, clinging tightly to his neck, her small fingers pressing into his shirt. The woods were dark, shadows stretching long and eerie between the trees, and despite knowing better, she still shuddered.

Mark laughed softly. "Don't worry. If there's a ghost, I'll fight it for you."

Isabelle peeked up at him, her fear easing into a grin. "Promise?"

"Promise."

By the time they reached a clearing, Mark set her back down, brushing a stray leaf from her hair.

"Did you find anything?" he asked. "How many cicada nymphs did you catch?"

At the mention of their foraging, Isabelle's enthusiasm dimmed. She shuffled her feet. "None yet… I looked, but I think this spot doesn't have them. Maybe we should try another part of the woods?"

Mark wasn't surprised. It wasn't quite peak season yet, and even he had only managed to gather a few dozen so far. Isabelle was still small, and her eyes hadn't adjusted well to the dim light beneath the trees.

"How about this?" Mark grinned, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of squirming cicada nymphs, their tiny bodies wriggling in his palm. "Looks like I had better luck."

"Wow!" Isabelle's eyes widened with delight.

"Wow!" echoed Maggie, who had just caught up. She ran toward them, her face glowing with excitement. "Mark, how did you find so many? I only got one!"

Puffing out her chest slightly, she proudly held up her lone cicada nymph, cradled carefully in her hands.

"That's a good catch, Maggie," Mark praised, ruffling her hair. "You did great."

Then, just as he turned his head, something caught his eye—movement near the base of a nearby tree.

"What's that?" he mused aloud.

Isabelle spun around. "Where?"

Mark pointed. There, against the bark, a cicada nymph was inching its way upward. Isabelle's face lit up with determination, and she darted forward, snatching it up with both hands.

"I got one!" she declared triumphantly.

Mark chuckled. "Nice job, little sis."

With that, the hunt resumed. For the next half-hour, Mark let the girls take the lead, guiding them toward the best spots while pretending to 'discover' the nymphs just moments before they did. Their laughter echoed through the trees, their excitement infectious.

But something else caught Mark's attention.

Deep in the woods, some of the trees looked… wrong. Their trunks were stripped bare up to about six feet, the bark missing, leaving behind smooth, pale wood.

Hunger does that.

Mark's jaw tightened. People in Dusthawk were getting desperate. Stripping bark to eat, boiling it down into whatever weak broth they could make. He'd heard of it happening in other places, but seeing it here, in their own woods, sent a chill through him.

This world was getting crueler by the day.

Heading Home

By the time they left the woods, the moon was rising, casting pale light over the dirt path ahead. The cool night breeze carried the scent of dry grass and distant smoke.

Mark had quietly transferred more nymphs from his pockets into the girls' hands when they weren't looking, letting them believe they had caught far more than they actually had. Now, wrapped in a bundle of cloth, they had over forty between them—more than enough for a decent meal.

Maggie slowed her steps, glancing up at Mark. "These were your finds… Shouldn't you take them?"

Mark hesitated. He hadn't expected her to offer them back. A child like Maggie, always hungry, always on the edge of starvation, had every reason to keep as much as she could.

Still, she was offering.

He smiled. "Nah. You take them home. Tell your folks to roast them up for you. Next time, I'll take you hunting again."

Maggie's face lit up. But then, she hesitated, glancing down at her hands. "I should save some for my little sister," she admitted. "I didn't share last time."

Before Mark could respond, Isabelle piped up loudly, "That's okay! I'll get to eat some tomorrow!"

Mark nearly laughed. Kids and their logic.

"Alright, alright," he said, shaking his head. "Let's get you home before your folks worry."

A Mother's Relief

Maggie's home was a small wooden shack with a slanted roof and a single window. As she pushed open the door, Mark could see the dim flicker of an oil lamp inside. Someone had stayed up waiting for her.

"See you tomorrow, Mack!" she called before disappearing inside.

Mark waved before turning back toward his own home.

The moment they stepped into the yard, Isabelle took off running toward the house, waving her bundle excitedly.

"Mom! Mom! Look what we found!"

From inside, Mary Thompson's weary voice called back, "What are you yelling about at this hour? Are you looking for a reason to get your behind smacked?"

She stepped into the doorway just as Isabelle skidded to a stop in front of her, holding up her catch. Mary blinked, then reached down, picking up one of the wriggling insects.

Her eyes widened slightly.

She looked at Mark. "You got all these?"

Mark shrugged. "Enough to make a meal of it."

Mary's face softened, and for the first time in a long while, there was something close to relief in her expression. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Good. Real good."

Without another word, she disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a cloth sack. Carefully, she collected the nymphs, tying the bag shut. It wasn't much, but it was food—protein, sustenance, survival.

Mark hesitated before speaking. "I'll bring some to Grandma tomorrow."

Mary nodded. "She could use it."

She paused, then, as if on impulse, placed a hand on Mark's shoulder.

"You did good tonight."

Mark didn't say anything, just nodded. The weight of the night settled in his chest—not just the hunger, not just the relief, but the unease that still lingered.

Because deep down, he knew—

This was only a temporary victory.