Ariel knocked on the heavy door. It was made from the ribs of some giant mutated beast, thick and imposing.
"Enter," a voice called out. It was Hillard, the chieftain. He sounded tired, but the authority in his tone was unmistakable.
Ariel pushed the door open. She and Elvin stepped inside.
Hillard sat behind a massive desk made of bone. He was staring at a pile of withered, blackened wheat stalks, his brow furrowed in frustration. He looked up. When he saw Ariel, and then Elvin standing behind her, his face hardened. His eyes narrowed into slits.
Ariel stepped forward. She placed the wooden bowl of fish ball soup onto the bone desk. The bowl was chipped, the soup slightly murky, but the smell...
Hillard's nose twitched. The rich, savory scent cut through the stale air of the room.
He glared at the white balls floating in the broth. "What is this?" he demanded. "Some kind of trick?"
"It's food," Ariel said calmly. "Made from the bony, tasteless mutated fish in the river. The ones nobody wants to eat."
Hillard grunted. He picked up a carved bone spoon. He scooped up a single ball, eyeing it suspiciously, and put it in his mouth.
He chewed once. Twice.
He slammed his hands on the desk and stood up so fast his chair shot backward, scraping against the stone floor with a screech. His eyes were wide with shock.
Ariel didn't give him a second to recover.
"I want to register a permanent partnership with him," she said, pointing to Elvin.
Hillard's excitement faded, replaced by a grim, paternalistic concern. He looked from the miraculous soup to Ariel, then to the pale man behind her. His face darkened into stern disapproval. He pointed a thick finger at Elvin's pale, sweaty face.
"Absolutely not," Hillard barked. "He's poisoned. He's a dead man walking. He'll drag you down. He can't hunt. He can't protect you. He's useless."
Elvin stood silently. His gaze dropped to the floor, his expression unreadable.
Ariel reached out. She grabbed Elvin's cold, limp hand. She squeezed it tight.
"I don't need a hunter," Ariel said, her voice steady and firm. "I need someone smart. Someone who listens. Someone who won't raise a hand to me."
She looked Hillard dead in the eye. "I'm weak. I need a partner who will obey me. Completely."
Hillard stared at her. He looked at the stubborn set of her jaw, then down at the bowl of soup that still smelled like a dream. He let out a heavy sigh, the fight draining out of him.
He yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a small, rectangular metal tag. He tossed it across the desk. It clattered in front of Elvin.
"Take it. Don't come crying to me when he drops dead."
Elvin picked up the tag. It was the official badge of a camp member.
Ariel didn't waste a second. "I have another request."
Hillard raised an eyebrow.
"I want that piece of wasteland behind our shelter," she said, pointing in the general direction. "The one nobody uses."
Hillard waved a hand dismissively. He thought she just wanted to plant a few weeds. "Fine. Take it." He grabbed a charcoal stick and circled the area on the map.
They walked out into the sunlight. Ariel's face was lit with a fierce, hungry ambition.
She dragged Elvin back to their shelter at a brisk pace. Once there, she dropped to her knees in the dirt outside the door. She picked up a stick and drew a massive square in the dust.
She pointed to the lines. "This," she told Elvin, "is going to be our new home. An underground fortress. Built like the courtyards of the old world."
She explained the concept. How the earth would insulate them from the freezing winds. How the deep walls would keep out the mutated beasts. How it would be safe. Warm. Permanent.
Elvin listened. He didn't laugh. He didn't call her crazy. His eyes actually lit up with a strange, intense focus.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked quietly.
Ariel felt a rush of gratitude. She pointed toward the scrap heap at the edge of the camp.
"Go find old vines. Strong wood. Anything we can use."
Elvin turned and walked away. His steps were slow, but there was a solid, unyielding determination in his posture.
Ariel watched him go. Then she crouched down, her fingers tracing the lines in the dirt, calculating the volume of earth they needed to move, the tools they needed to make, and the time they had left before the cold season hit.
