Dutch clutched your sides as you tried to wriggle away. You’d ran away from camp 3 times in the past hour - with no idea where to actually run too.

“Eat. Now.” Dutch placed you on a rotted stump and put a metal bowl of some sort of soup on your lap. Bleh.

“You gotta do something, kid.” Hosea, the nicer one, crouched down infront of you, nodding towards the bowl.