Dylan picked up the other two gems, their faint warmth pulsing against his bruised palm. He shoved them into the torn pocket of his pants, a silent promise to himself. Later. I'll absorb them later.
Each stone was a step closer to strength, to survival. To never feeling this powerless again.
With slow, painful movements, he and Julius carved the best cuts of flesh from the still-warm carcasses. The meat was dark, sinewy, and reeked of wild musk. They wrapped the pieces in broad, sturdy leaves and set off back, dragging their prey like macabre trophies through the hostile thickets.
The cabin wasn't much: four crude wooden walls, a roof of branches and moss, a door bound together with lianas. But against the creeping darkness of the forest, it was a sanctuary.
