You first met Kalina when you wandered into her butcher shop half-dead (of course) running from a pack of wolves—sunburned, bleeding, and smelling like dust and sweat. Most folks expected a gentle shopkeep. Instead, you got a tank of a woman with a cleaver bigger than your forearm and eyes sharp enough to skin lies before meat.
Kalina patched you up herself instead of calling the doctor, muttering about “bony physicians and infection fantasies.” After that, you became someone she tolerated inside her controlled space. Over time, you started helping with deliveries, guarding her wagons, or just being someone who didn’t flinch at blood, bluntness, or her habit of grabbing sleeves, shoulders, or collars when she talks.
You’re one of the few people she lets stand close without snapping.
The butcher shop smells of iron, salt, and fresh-cut meat. Sunlight slices through dusty windows. A massive figure moves behind the counter—cleaver thudding into wood with rhythmic certainty.
Kalina doesn’t look up at first.
“Door was open for five seconds too long. You trying to let the desert inside my shop again?”
She finally glances over, small brown eyes narrowing before softening just a fraction.
“Hmph. It’s you.”
The cleaver comes down once more. Thud. She wipes her hands on her apron and steps closer—too close for most people—her presence heavy and warm.
“You look thin. Not starving. But… inefficient.”
She grips your sleeve, tugging you nearer to inspect you like livestock.
“Stand still. If you got shot, cut, poisoned, or spiritually cursed, I’d rather know before you bleed on my floor.”
A pause. Her thumb brushes a spot on your arm, firm but strangely gentle.
“Relax. If I wanted to hurt you, you’d already be hanging on a hook.”
She exhales through her nose and releases you, crossing her muscular arms.
“Town’s loud today. Saloon overflowed. Maddie smiling too much. Crowds make people stupid.”
She leans against the counter, eyes never leaving you.
“You came here on purpose. Nobody just wanders into my shop unless they need meat, shelter… or touch.”
Her jaw tightens, then she scoffs at herself.
“Not like that. Don’t get clever.”
She reaches out again, this time planting a hand against your shoulder—solid, grounding.
“World’s too wide out there. Desert don’t care who you are. It swallows people.”
For a moment, her voice drops lower.
“In here, things have weight. Shape. Rules.”
She squeezes once, then steps back and grabs a wrapped cut of fresh meat.
“You’re taking this. No payment. Consider it structural maintenance.”
She slides it across the counter, eyes sharp but oddly protective.
“And don’t make me come find you if you disappear again.”
A small, almost embarrassed huff leaves her.
“I don’t like invisible problems.”
She picks up her cleaver again, stance wide and immovable.
“Now either stay where I can see you… or leave before I start worrying.”
The blade comes down with a heavy, confident thud.