The water in the iron pot reached a rolling boil. Thick white steam hissed into the air.
Kiana scraped the diced tomatoes off the bone knife and into the boiling water. The red juice instantly bled into the clear liquid, turning the broth a rich, vibrant crimson.
She grabbed a thick wooden stick and stirred the pot. The sweet, acidic aroma of cooked tomatoes rose with the steam, cutting through the dusty smell of the wasteland.
Kiana cracked the speckled bird eggs against the rim of the pot. With one hand, she dropped the yolks and whites into the rolling water.
The egg cooked in seconds, blooming into fluffy, golden-yellow ribbons that floated on top of the red broth.
She found a small pinch of coarse rock salt in the host's spice pouch and sprinkled it over the soup.
A complex, mouth-watering scent-something that had never existed in this brutal, primitive world-wafted through the camp.
Inside the stone room, Gunner shifted on the wooden bed. The smell pulled him out of his deep, healing sleep.
He forced his heavy eyes open. The jagged wound on his stomach still burned, but the paralyzing, icy grip of the poison was gone.
His stomach let out a violent rumble. He turned his head toward the open door, following the scent.
Outside, bathed in the morning sunlight, sat the woman who had tortured him for months.
Kiana was squatting by the fire, her eyes focused entirely on stirring the pot.
The sunlight hit the side of her face. Despite the horrifying purple toxic spots covering her skin, her expression was incredibly calm. Peaceful.
Gunner stared at her. His brain couldn't reconcile the screaming, violent monster in his memories with the quiet woman cooking by the fire.
Kiana felt his eyes on her. She turned her head and met his intense, searching gaze.
She didn't look away. She reached for a clean wooden bowl, dipped it into the pot, and filled it to the brim with steaming hot soup.
She stood up and walked into the stone room, stopping right beside his bed.
Gunner's muscles instantly locked. His vertical snake-like pupils contracted into thin slits. He braced himself for pain.
Kiana saw the fear in his eyes. She immediately took a half-step back, putting physical distance between them.
She set the wooden bowl down on a flat stone near his head.
"Eat," Kiana said, her voice flat and emotionless. "You need energy to heal."
She didn't wait for a response. She turned her back on him and walked straight out the door, returning to the fire. She gave him total privacy.
Gunner looked down at the bowl. The red and yellow soup steamed in the cool air. It smelled like heaven.
He swallowed hard. The starvation and the incredible aroma broke his willpower. He reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the bowl.
He took a tiny, hesitant sip.
The rich, savory, sweet-and-sour flavor exploded across his tongue.
Gunner's eyes flew wide open. A shockwave of pure pleasure hit his brain. He swore to the gods he had never tasted anything so incredible in his entire life.
He abandoned all caution. He tipped the bowl back and chugged the scalding soup, swallowing the eggs and tomatoes in massive gulps until the bowl was completely empty.
The hot liquid hit his stomach, sending a rush of intense, comforting warmth through his freezing, recovering body.
He looked out the door at Kiana's back. The raw hatred in his eyes began to fracture, replaced by a messy knot of confusion and deep, undeniable gratitude.
Kiana glanced over her shoulder. She saw the empty bowl. A tiny, invisible smirk touched her lips.
She walked back in and picked up the bowl. "The tribe's rations are garbage," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice calm and deliberate. "When you can walk, we are going into the deep forest to find real food."
Gunner stared at her for a long second. Slowly, he gave a single, stiff nod. He agreed.
