Chapter 3 CHAPTER 3
My heart pounded in my chest, so loud that I could hear every thump in my ears as if it were ten times stronger than it should have been. The sound followed me with every step, refusing to settle, no matter how hard I tried to steady my breathing.
The farm’s fence was not far anymore.
I just needed to get back.
I kept moving, forcing my legs to push through the snow despite the ache settling deep into my muscles. The cold clung to me, seeping through my clothes, but I barely noticed it now. My focus stayed fixed ahead, on the faint outline of the fence that slowly came into view through the trees.
Relief began to rise in my chest, but it did not fully settle.
Something about it felt wrong.
A sickening thought crept in as I drew closer, tightening my chest in a different way. Whatever had followed me had not attacked. It had stayed just out of sight, moving with me, watching.
And now I was leading it straight home.
I slowed slightly, my grip tightening on my bow as I listened. The forest behind me remained silent. No crunch of snow. No shift of movement. No sign that anything had followed me this far.
It was gone.
Or at least, I hoped it was.
I stood there for a moment longer, listening harder, waiting for any sound that might prove me wrong, but nothing came. The silence felt normal again, empty in a way that should have brought comfort.
It didn’t.
Then, suddenly, my stomach growled so loudly that I nearly released the arrow in my hand. The sound startled me enough to break the tension, and I let out a quiet breath, lowering my bow slightly as I realized what it was.
“Just hunger,” I muttered under my breath.
I glanced down at the rabbit hanging at my side. It had gone stiff in the cold, its body hard beneath the thin layer of frost that had formed over its fur. It would be harder to skin now, but it did not matter.
It was still food.
And food meant I would not go to bed starving tonight.
The sky had already begun to darken, the light fading faster now as the cold settled deeper into the land. I did not have much time left. I needed to get inside, get the fire going, and prepare the rabbit before the last of the daylight disappeared.
I quickened my pace and reached the fence, gripping the wood as I pulled myself through. The familiar ground beneath my feet brought a small sense of relief, though it did not fully ease the tension that still lingered in my chest.
With the winter this harsh and food running low, I had no choice but to wander into the forbidden woods. It was a risk I would have to take again, whether I liked it or not.
The cottage came into view through the falling light, small and worn but still standing strong against the cold. Smoke no longer rose from the chimney, and the sight had become a familiar thing with my stepdad out at the taverns.
I let out a slow breath as I approached, exhaustion finally beginning to settle into my body. My limbs felt heavy, my fingers stiff, and the cold had worked its way deep into my bones.
I needed warmth. I needed rest.
But first, I needed to eat.
The cottage was small, and we did not have much, but I had made sure we would not freeze. A large stack of firewood sat neatly piled against the side, enough to last through the worst of the winter if I used it carefully.
I wasted no time once I stepped inside.
The air was just as cold as outside, but it was still better than the wind. I quickly set the rabbit down and got the fire going, feeding it with dry wood until the flames finally caught and began to grow.
The warmth came slowly, but it was enough.
I knelt down and began to skin the rabbit, my movements quick and practiced despite the stiffness in my fingers. Hunger gnawed at me, sharp and impatient, making it harder to focus.
I was too hungry to wait for something like stew.
It would take too long.
Once the rabbit was ready, I pushed it onto a stick and held it over the fire, watching as the meat slowly began to cook. The smell filled the small space, rich and heavy, making my stomach tighten with need.
For the first time that day, I allowed myself to breathe. I was home, and I was safe.
A sudden crunch in the snow just outside the door put me on full alert.
My body stiffened instantly, my hand tightening around the stick as I turned my head toward the sound. The fire crackled softly behind me, but it was no longer enough to drown out the noise outside.
For a brief moment, I found myself hoping it was him.
I had never wished so badly for my stepfather to return.
The thought alone made something twist in my chest.
This cottage had been my home alone for most of the time. He rarely stayed here, spending his days and nights in the small village instead, drinking away whatever coin he could get his hands on. He only returned when he had nothing left, when the money ran dry and there was nowhere else for him to go.
Another crunch followed, closer this time.
I slowly set the stick with the rabbit aside and reached for my bow, my fingers wrapping around it as I rose to my feet. My eyes stayed fixed on the door, my breath slowing as I listened.
The handle shifted.
The door creaked open.
Relief washed through me the moment I saw him step inside, but it did not last long.
A familiar, sickening feeling settled deep in my stomach as I took in the state of him. His clothes were worn and unkempt, his movements slightly unsteady, and I did not need to get close to know the smell that would follow him.
He had been drinking.
Again.
His eyes found me almost immediately, then dropped briefly to the rabbit by the fire before returning to my face. There was something in his expression that made my grip tighten slightly around my bow.
He had not come back for nothing.
He never did.
“You have anything?” he asked, his voice rough.
I swallowed, already knowing where this was going.
“I don’t,” I answered quietly. “There’s nothing left.”
His jaw tightened at my words, the shift in his expression small, but enough to make my stomach drop. I had seen it before. I knew what came after.
There were no crops left to sell, nothing stored away, and no coin hidden anywhere in this cottage. The winter had taken what little we had, and what remained had long since been spent.
Usually, when I had nothing to give him, his temper turned quickly.
And when it did, it was not him anymore.
It was the drink.
At least, that was what I used to tell myself.
I took a small step back, my body already bracing for what might come next, my eyes never leaving his as the firelight flickered between us.