Hunger does not knock.
It claws.
By the third day, our stomachs had begun to cramp.
The dried curds were almost gone.
The horses were too weak to ride far.
And the wind had grown crueler.
Mother did not say it out loud.
But I saw it in her eyes—
We could not survive another week like this.
"I'm going hunting," I said at dawn.
Khasar stood up immediately.
"I'm coming."
"You stay," Mother ordered.
"He's not going alone," Khasar shot back.
There was fire in his voice.
He hated being powerless.
So did I.
Mother studied us both.
Then she handed me the bow.
And gave Khasar the broken spear.
"Come back," she said.
Not as an order.
As a plea.
The steppe stretched endless before us.
White.
Silent.
Merciless.
Snow reached our knees in some places.
The cold bit into our fingers until they felt like stone.
We walked for hours.
No tracks.
No movement.
Nothing.
Hunger makes everything look like prey.
Shadows move.
Snow shifts.
Your mind plays tricks.
"Maybe we should turn back," Khasar muttered.
I shook my head.
"Not without meat."
He grabbed my arm.
"And if we die out here?"
"Then we die trying."
He stared at me like I had changed.
Maybe I had.
Near midday, we found tracks.
Small.
Light.
Rabbit.
Fresh.
Khasar's eyes lit up.
Finally.
We followed carefully.
Slow.
Measured.
The tracks led toward a cluster of low rocks partially covered in snow.
I raised a hand, signaling him to stop.
Silence.
Wind.
Breathing.
Then—
Movement.
A flash of white fur.
I pulled the bowstring back.
Slow.
Steady.
Father's voice echoed in memory:
"Do not rush the shot. Let the world slow down first."
I exhaled.
Released.
The arrow sliced through the air.
A sharp cry.
Then stillness.
Khasar whooped and ran forward.
But when we reached the rabbit—
We both froze.
The arrow had not killed it cleanly.
It was twitching.
Bleeding slowly into the snow.
Suffering.
Khasar hesitated.
I did not.
I knelt and snapped its neck quickly.
The warmth of its blood spread across my hands.
Hot.
Real.
This was not practice.
This was survival.
Khasar looked pale.
"You didn't even blink."
I wiped my hands on the snow.
"If you hesitate, it suffers longer."
He swallowed.
"You're different now."
"Yes."
There was no denial.
We should have turned back.
One rabbit was not enough, but it was something.
But pride is dangerous.
And hunger is greedy.
"We keep going," I said.
Khasar frowned.
"For what?"
"For more."
That was when we saw them.
Not animals.
Men.
Two riders on the horizon.
Watching us.
Too far to recognize.
But close enough to see we were alone.
Bandits again.
Or scouts.
Or worse—members of our former clan making sure we truly starved.
"Run," Khasar whispered.
"No," I replied.
"Are you mad?"
If we ran, they would chase.
If they chased, we would die.
Instead, I did something unexpected.
I stood tall.
Raised the bow.
And aimed directly at them.
Even from that distance.
A message.
I am not prey.
The riders paused.
They did not move closer.
We held eye contact across the frozen land.
A silent battle of will.
Finally—
They turned away.
Khasar exhaled shakily.
"They were testing us."
"Yes."
"And?"
"They will report."
His face tightened.
"To who?"
I did not answer.
Because we both knew.
The men who abandoned us would want confirmation.
That we were still alive.
Still a problem.
The walk back felt longer.
Heavier.
The rabbit hung from my belt.
But something else hung with it—
A realization.
We were being watched.
Left to starve.
But not forgotten.
That was worse.
When we returned, Mother saw the blood on my hands first.
Her eyes widened.
Then softened.
"You hunted," she said quietly.
"Yes."
She took the rabbit.
Prepared it carefully.
Nothing wasted.
Not skin.
Not bone.
Not even the smallest scrap.
As the meat roasted over the fire, the smell filled the ger.
Temuge smiled for the first time in days.
That night, we ate slowly.
Carefully.
Measured portions.
Survival is discipline.
Not celebration.
After the others slept, Mother spoke to me alone.
"You saw riders," she said.
It was not a question.
"Yes."
"And?"
"They're watching."
She nodded.
"They want to see how long we last."
Anger burned in my chest.
"They think we will beg."
Mother's voice hardened.
"Then we make sure we never do."
I stepped outside again before sleep.
The stars were sharp tonight.
The air painfully clear.
I looked toward the distant hills where the riders had vanished.
Let them watch.
Let them wait.
Every day we survived—
Was proof they had failed.
And one day…
Survival would not be enough.
One day—
We would stop being hunted.
And start hunting.
The wind shifted.
Colder.
Sharper.
As if carrying a warning.
Because somewhere beyond the darkness—
A decision was being made about us.
And next time—
The riders would not just watch.