Eujal stared at the half-skinned carcass, heart hammering in his chest as he tried to recall any useful scraps of knowledge about butchering an animal this size. He''d helped prepare rabbits before, even the occasional boar, but this was different—and he had no real tools besides the jagged rock he''d found. The boy, still unconscious and feverish, lay propped against a tree. If Eujal wanted either of them to survive, he''d have to figure this out.


    He swallowed and approached the carcass again. Using the rock, he sawed through sinew and skin, peeling back the hide with clumsy, uneven cuts. The deer''s innards spilled out in a warm, bloody mass, and Eujal had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from gagging. Focus. He cast a glance at the boy, then forced himself to keep going. He remembered a friend once telling him that the best cuts were near the hind legs and along the back. That knowledge guided him now, though he ended up hacking through most of the meat just to pry it off.


    By the time he''d carved out something resembling usable chunks of venison, his arms were leaden with exhaustion. Blood stained his hands and clothes. He gathered a few strips of meat, laid them on a clean patch of grass, and wiped sweat from his brow. Next came the matter of cooking. He couldn''t eat it raw without risking sickness; besides, he needed something hot to keep the boy''s fever from worsening. But building a fire with no flint or tinderbox? That would be another challenge.


    He searched the area, found some relatively dry branches, and clutched a pair of stones. It took him a painfully long time—longer than he''d ever admit to anyone—but eventually he coaxed a small flame out of a nest of dried leaves and twigs. The late morning sun had helped dry the debris, making his efforts a bit easier. Once the blaze caught, he fed it steadily, building up a modest fire in a shallow pit he scraped out with his bare hands.


    Cooking the venison was a hasty affair. He lacked a proper spit or grill, so he speared the strips on sharpened sticks and held them close to the fire, rotating them as best he could. The aroma of sizzling fat curled into the air, mingling with the acrid stench of blood that still clung to his clothes. His stomach rumbled in response.


    When he deemed the meat cooked enough—no more visible pink in the center—he set some aside to cool. Then he approached the boy, who looked even paler than before. A sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, and his breaths came shallow and rapid. Eujal gently shook him awake.


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    "Hey," he said, voice low, "You need to eat."


    The boy''s eyes fluttered open, a hazy gray in the half-light of the makeshift camp. He recoiled at first, then seemed to register the smoky scent of cooked venison. Eujal offered a small piece, warm and dripping juice. Hesitant, the boy took it, chewing slowly. His body shuddered—whether from exhaustion or fever, Eujal couldn''t tell—but he managed to swallow. Bit by bit, he accepted more until he''d eaten enough to keep him conscious.


    Eujal wolfed down his share with trembling hands. The venison was tough in places, half-burnt in others, but it was food. And that meant a better chance at surviving another day.


    They rested for a while in silence. The boy drifted in and out of a dazed doze. Eujal''s own limbs felt like they were made of stone, but his mind wouldn''t stay quiet. He had to plan their next move. They were still in the valley, which meant they needed to find a way out—northeast, following Zaher''s chosen direction, hoping it led to the Jazedir mountains. From there, they had to somehow avoid Asir patrols and find a recognized road or path that funneled travelers to Scissia city. If they could reach that city, they might be safe from the local authorities.


    But safe to do what? Eujal grimaced, poking absently at the fire with a stick. He was a mercenary from Khardouth, paid to fight against Asir rule—though that didn''t matter much anymore. The rest of his company was gone. What was he supposed to do in Scissia now? Beg for coin? Sell his sword arm again? The Asir wouldn''t be happy to see any foreign soldiers skulking around, that was for sure. But maybe there, he could find help for the boy. Figure out how or why he''d been locked in that coffin, who might be responsible. Maybe that was reason enough to keep going.


    He glanced at his new companion. The boy stirred, eyes half-lidded, blinking as he tried to focus. His fever wasn''t getting better, but at least he''d eaten. That was one step closer to recovery.


    Slowly, Eujal reached out and touched the back of the boy''s hand—just enough to feel the heat radiating through. "You''re burning up," he murmured. "We''ll rest for a bit, then we''re heading northeast. Might be tough, but… staying here will kill us."


    The boy''s gaze flicked to Eujal, confusion still evident. He parted his lips like he wanted to speak, but only managed a faint whisper. Whatever he was trying to say vanished into a weary exhale, and he slumped against the tree again.


    Eujal sighed, tending to the fire with the last of the decent wood. "Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "You and me both, we''re lost." He thought about Scissia. About the questions swirling in his mind—how to pass the patrols, how to pay for safe lodging, how to navigate a city he barely knew existed. And behind all that, a single question loomed even larger: What was that coffin?


    He looked over at the boy again. If there was any answer to be found, it had to be in Scissia.