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Night in the wilderness, even in summer, carried a chill. With forest on one side and creek on the other, the cold seeped through the air and forced people to edge closer to the fire for warmth.
Barbara stubbornly kept her daytime "scorching hot" outfit, refusing to take out the warmer clothes in her backpack—just to see whether the man beside her would finally take the hint and offer her his warmth.
Henry, however, was focused solely on tending the fire, eyes fixed on the venison leg, venison strips, and a skinned rabbit roasting directly over the flames.
With no other choice, Barbara moved nearer to the fire, warming herself and waiting for Henry to finally notice her.
A short distance away, Katie was gnawing on two raw deer legs, her entire muzzle smeared crimson—downright horrifying.
Fortunately, Henry had bled the remaining deer properly, or the meat would've tasted off.
Barbara frowned.
"Why don't you feed Katie cooked meat? Aren't you worried about parasites or wild-animal diseases?"
Henry sighed.
"Because raw meat—and blood—contain nutrients tigers need. Until I find a proper supplement, I just have to ignore small issues like parasites."
Seeing Henry low-energy and quiet today—nothing like the flirtatious menace he'd been during previous encounters—Barbara had no choice but to keep searching for conversation topics.
She glanced nervously toward the woods.
"We tossed the guts randomly… Isn't that bad? Shouldn't we dig a hole and bury them?"
Henry explained:
"Regular campers bury the guts or carcass because the smell attracts predators.
"But with her here—"
He pointed at the tiger.
"—what predator do you think would dare come close? North America doesn't have tabby cats, but with that size, there's not much around here bold enough to approach."
At that moment, Katie lifted her head from the mound of meat—her mighty tiger face drenched in wet blood, looking like a beast straight out of nightmares.
After hearing Henry's explanation, Barbara huffed,
"You're still insisting she's a tabby cat? What kind of cat is that big?"
Henry proudly replied,
"Why not? There's one right here. Hey Katie—give us a meow."
"ROAR!"
: Eating. Busy.
Tiger speech was simple—very few distinct tones. That roar could also be translated as:
"Eating. Get lost."
—depending on how gentle one preferred their subtitles.
Henry took the sass in stride. A tiger that couldn't beat him roaring a bit? Whatever.
For Barbara, though, the human–tiger dynamic only confirmed something important:
This damned male tiger was absolutely her romantic rival.
What a disastrous pairing.
She was practically duty-bound to rescue this man from giving all his affection to a striped carnivore and remind him what the beauty of a human woman was supposed to be.
She hugged her arms and shivered dramatically, edging closer to Henry.
"It's so cold…"
She meant to lean directly on him—
But Henry suddenly handed her a bowl of hot mushroom-and-wild-greens soup, blocking her mid-lean and pushing her back.
Unless she wanted the soup all over her, she was forced to retreat.
The man smiled gently.
"Drink this while it's hot. Warm up a bit before the roast's ready."
He practically forced the bowl into her hands.
"Didn't bring anything warm to wear? I have a light jacket—want me to grab it?"
"No need… the soup is fine."
Barbara forced a sweet smile while plotting her next move.
But every time she attempted to initiate "advance maneuver #17," Henry countered—
with food.
She couldn't reject it without looking rude. And each serving was so small—just a few bites—so she'd quickly finish, regroup, and try again.
Thus, through some unholy cycle of flirt → food → surrender → try again, Barbara was stuffed full before she realized it.
She even burped.
Now the girl was ladling her own soup to cleanse the grease from her mouth.
Henry, having fed her into submission, quickly cleaned up the remaining roast—devouring everything with lightning speed.
Surprisingly, the slowest eater was Katie.
She savored her deer legs leisurely, licking her bloody muzzle between bites, radiating absolute apex-predator dominance.
When Henry took a moment to sip his soup, Barbara seized the chance—she slid right in beside him.
Short of dumping hot soup on her, she was impossible to stop now.
So after an entire evening of effort, Barbara finally managed to rest her head on his shoulder—her posture unmistakably intimate.
Henry calmly said,
"If you're sleepy, go rest in the tent. Katie and I will stay outside. No one will crowd you."
"Do you… hate me?" she whispered, voice soft and sweet.
"Hmm. Strictly speaking, I don't hate you."
Her eyes brightened.
"So that means you like me?"
Henry chuckled.
"Who would hate a cute girl like you?"
Instead of delighting her, it made Barbara frown. She raised her head and stared straight at him.
"If that's true, then why won't you accept me?"
Henry peered into the pot.
"I'm pretty sure those mushrooms were edible—not hallucinogenic. And we didn't drink.
So… did you catch a cold? Fever?"
He reached to feel her forehead.
Barbara slapped his hand away.
"I'm not sick! I'm serious!"
Henry didn't even look at her this time—just sipped his soup casually.
"Then what is it you like about me?"
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
"I do."
"Then you know I fell for you, right?"
"That," Henry said without hesitation, "I don't believe."
"Why!?"
Barbara nearly jumped to her feet.
Henry finally glanced at her.
"If you like someone at first sight, it's either because they're drop-dead gorgeous…
or because they reek of money.
"That's just reality."
He shrugged.
"Objectively speaking—my looks have been professionally certified by a talent agent as 'non-distinctive.'
"At best, if I spent twenty years grinding in Hollywood, I might reach 'recognizable.' Maybe.
"And I'm definitely not rich enough to keep a college girl as a sugar baby.
"What am I?
Six months of background-extra work, a little over a year as a washed-up actress's assistant."
He looked at her calmly.
"So tell me—what exactly are you after? How am I supposed not to overthink it?"
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