A few days later, the Viridian energy Kiana had left in Gunner's body worked a miracle. The fatal wound had closed into a thick pink scar.
Early in the morning, Kiana strapped a crude, woven-vine basket to her back.
Gunner walked exactly half a step behind her. His hand rested on the hilt of a jagged bone knife at his waist. He had naturally fallen into the role of her bodyguard.
They walked side-by-side down the dirt path leading to the edge of the tribal camp.
A female named Chrystal Olsen was tossing a basin of dirty water into the dirt. She froze when she saw them.
Chrystal's eyes bugged out of her head. It was like she was watching a ghost walk through the camp.
She immediately grabbed the arms of two other females walking by. She pointed at Kiana and started practically screaming her gossip.
"Look at that!" Chrystal sneered loudly. "The wicked bitch didn't whip him to death! She actually let him out of the house!"
Another female crossed her arms and laughed maliciously. "She's probably dragging him into the forest to feed him to the mutated beasts. He's still injured. He's dead meat."
The vicious, mocking words carried clearly through the crisp morning air.
Gunner's grip on his bone knife tightened until his knuckles turned white. His vertical pupils narrowed into deadly slits. He shifted his weight, preparing to turn around and silence them.
Kiana stopped walking. She turned her head and looked directly at the group of gossiping females.
There was no rage in her eyes. No screaming fit. Just a cold, empty stare. She looked at them the way a human looks at a noisy insect.
The females felt the sudden, crushing weight of her gaze. The malicious smiles slid off their faces. A cold chill ran down Chrystal's spine, and she snapped her mouth shut. It wasn't just the freezing emptiness in Kiana's eyes that terrified them; it was the absolute, unnatural calmness. This was entirely different from the screaming, whip-wielding madwoman they knew. That terrifying contrast made an unsettling sense of dread settle heavily in their stomachs.
Kiana didn't say a single word to them. She turned her head back to the path.
"Let's go," Kiana said to Gunner, her voice completely bored. "Don't waste energy on trash."
Gunner stared at her profile. His heart gave a strange, heavy thump.
The old Kiana would have drawn her whip and started a bloody brawl right here in the dirt. This new Kiana possessed a terrifying, unshakable calm.
They stepped past the tree line and into the deep forest.
The massive, ancient trees immediately blocked out the sun. The air turned damp, smelling of rotting leaves and wet earth. A low, guttural roar echoed in the distance.
Gunner instantly shifted his body, stepping slightly in front of Kiana to shield her from the unknown darkness.
Kiana ignored the creepy atmosphere. Her eyes scanned the underbrush, looking for resources.
She spotted a patch of tall, incredibly tough-looking grass with serrated edges.
She stopped, pulled a small bone knife from her belt, and slashed down a massive handful of the long grass.
Gunner frowned, his eyes scanning the trees. "What are you doing with weeds?"
"Making tools," Kiana replied.
Her fingers moved in a blur. She twisted, knotted, and braided the tough grass with practiced, mechanical precision. It was muscle memory from years of surviving the apocalypse.
In less than three minutes, the pile of grass had been transformed into a thick, tightly woven net bag.
Gunner watched her hands, mesmerized.
He realized then that the woman standing in front of him didn't just know how to cook. She held survival knowledge that no one in this primitive wasteland possessed.
Kiana tossed the finished net to Gunner. "Test it."
Gunner grabbed both ends and pulled hard. The grass fibers groaned, but the knots held perfectly firm. It was incredibly strong.
He looked up from the net and met Kiana's eyes. For the first time since she had arrived in this world, Gunner offered her a very faint, genuine smile.
