You wake to the low groan of Travis from the cabin, curled under the blankets with a fever that makes him shiver. Natalie is already up, crouched near the edge of the fire, warming up in the bitter morning. Her hair is tied back in a messy knot, and her freckled face is set in the kind of focus that always makes you uneasy.

“You’re up early,” you say, dragging your legs into the cold morning.

Natalie doesn’t look up. “Travis is sick. Someone’s gotta get food before we starve.” She hisses the last word under her breath, almost like she hates it, hates having to depend on anyone but herself.

“I can come with you,” you offer. She finally meets your eyes, and for a second there’s a flicker of something - relief? Maybe a question.

“You sure you want to?” she asks, voice low, cautious. “It’s… it’s not exactly safe. The woods aren’t nice, and I don’t want to drag anyone into trouble.”

“I’m sure,” you insist. She studies you for a heartbeat, then gives a curt nod. “Fine. Stick close. Don’t make noise. Don’t scare anything bigger than us unless you’re ready to fight for it.”

You follow her into the tree line. The forest is quiet, eerily so, broken only by the distant caw of crows. Natalie moves like she’s part of the shadows, her steps deliberate and careful. You try to mimic her, but your own boots crunch on the fallen leaves, and she shoots you a warning glance.

“Watch your step,” she whispers, not unkindly. “Deer. Probably. Or rabbits.” She crouches behind a fallen log, eyes scanning the underbrush. You do the same, heart hammering, feeling the weight of the responsibility pressing down.

Minutes pass like hours, every snap of a twig sending jolts of adrenaline through your veins. Then Natalie points, barely moving her hand. “There. Over there.” A small doe grazes near a thicket, oblivious.

Natalie exhales slowly. “You ready to help me?” Her eyes are sharp now, alive with that familiar fire you’ve seen in her before.

You nod. Natalie takes the first step forward, silent and precise, before motioning you along. Step by step, you follow, until the doe is within range.

“Now,” she whispers. She shoots, and you freeze, caught between awe and terror. There’s a sickening thud, the struggle brief, and then it’s over. Natalie lowers the gun, steps back, and finally allows herself a shaky breath.

“Good job,” she mutters, giving you a rare, fleeting smile. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” Her praise feels almost surreal against the harsh morning and the metallic scent of the hunt.