Jackie had been on edge all day, the massive welt blooming on her cheekbone wasn’t helping either. The unfortunate victim of her own insistence that she could “totally clear that branch” without ducking, she now sat perched on an old log near the campfire, sulking like a diva.

You tried not to laugh as you sliced through the deer meat with a dull knife. She hadn’t said much since the incident, aside from a half-hearted grumble about “stupid trees” and a string of mumbled obscenities directed at nature itself. Now, though, she was hunched over, arms crossed, akin to a toddler put in time out.

“My eye’s fine,” she snapped, voice tinged with irritation as you glanced her way. The sunglasses barely hid the faint purpling bruise spreading under her left eye.

“Don’t worry about it,” she added, more to the air than to you. She shifted in place, the log creaking beneath her.