The Northern duchy was nothing more than a name from the past.

The proud fief had been carved into ruin, sliced into pieces and sold off like a chunk of meat at the butcher’s. Even the castle, Sloane’s old, leaky home, had been claimed by a merchant for too little coin.

All that remained of the once-famed duchy was a valley cradled in the folds of the most dangerous mountain range in the kingdom. It was on a plot of land pressed too damn close to feral territory to be truly safe. And without an overlord’s protection, that made it unwanted by all and pretty much useless to the elite.

So within this valley was a village of people too poor to leave.

Her new house sat beyond the village on the soft slopes of a deep forest. A mud and stone dwelling where the nearest neighbour was at least two hills away. It was too deep in the woods to be safe and just far enough from the population to feel like exile. But distance meant silence, and silence kept the questions and choler away. Plus, no villager dared to step too close to their part of the woods with its monsters.

This made the lands rich and ripe for the picking.

It was like a fucking buffet.

“You know,” Riven’s voice trailed from behind her, long raven hair pushed back from red eyes, creamy skin glowing in the sun. “Only Veyr has gone this deep into the woods, right?” There was far too much judgment in his doe-shaped eyes.

Sloane nodded, “yep.”

“If we go in too far, we’re going to step into feral territory and get ourselves killed.” His snarl was dripping with poison now, an almost malicious growl on his tongue. But Sloane could not help staring at the pout of a lower lip, the colour of a rabbit’s tongue. The glint of consternation in his eyes. “I’m going to run if we see them, and I’m going to leave you behind.”

Concern. Her lips quirked into a smirk. It was nice to know that he cared for her. But she understood his fears; uncharted lands were always dangerous. And the feral were beast men gone mad. But in their current state of utter poverty, they did not have the option of ignoring the treasures of the lands. They needed food. “I’ll be careful.”

“I’m good at running, you’re not,” he reminded icily, nose twitching, ears all alert and cute. Riven was now a snappy, agitated rabbit with a nasty sneer, eager to put her in her place. “You’ll die and I won’t give a fuck.”

Sloane frowned at that, her mind now reminding her of her physique.

Sloane had been born a runt with just a twisted hint of a beast; even puberty had not pushed her towards a designation like the rest of the population. It made her body feel just as human as her past, but it did come with its restrictions. Such as the lack of animal abilities—the one that boosted the rest of the population with wicked speed, greater strength, and crazy powers. This made Sloane as weak as a child in their eyes.

Still, Sloane flexed her arms then. She had been pretty damn strong in her old world, inhumanly so. And she could feel hints of her old strength still lingering within her muscles. A bit of daily cardio, a good amount of training, and she’d be up to speed in no time.

That was if she could find a steady amount of food to fuel her.

Riven’s voice barked into her thoughts, tinged with panting exhaustion. “Hello?”

“That’s nice,” she teased, biting back the smile on her lips. He was so easy to rile up.

“Oh, Gods help me.” The bunny rolled his eyes, puffing up with ire, chest stuck out, oddly thick and rippling with muscle. “You’ve lost all your brain cells from your fall. Not only are you weak.” There was a pant on his tongue now as he pushed himself up the slope. The path was damp and the ground was soft from dew. Her grin spread. The rabbit was clearly the weaker individual when it came to exercise. “You’re also stupid.”

She crouched then, ignoring him with an empty basket in her arms, fingers running over the small, low-growing leaves. She studied it for a moment, identifying the plant carefully. Wood sorrel. An old friend from her past. Her smile grew, and she shoved the bright green leaves to her lips. The taste was bright, acidic. A burst of tart, sour lemon had her tongue quivering with moisture.

Good.

Fresh.

Delicious—

Riven’s voice was etched with disgust. “Don’t eat more grass, you idiot—”

“This is edible,” she insisted, giving him a look. She allowed him to curse at her because Sloane deserved it. But she was not going to let him push her to her limits. “It’s sour but—”

“That means it’s fucking poisonous,” Riven snapped, reaching forward to push it from her hands. A dart of panic shone in red eyes gone pink from the light of the sun. “That means it could kill you, you dumb fuck—”

“Alright, we can wait and see if I’m poisoned.” She raised her hands in surrender, but shoved a couple more sprigs into her basket. He was clearly concerned for her, vibrating with anxiety for his Alpha. And so her smile grew on her cheeks. It was nice to have someone who cared for her. “Let’s move on.”

The forest was plentiful. There were dandelions growing everywhere, perfect for a good, healthy tea at the very least. And she was grinning at the growth of dark green stinging nettle, teeming thick at the edge of the woods in bundles. Sprouts of fiddlehead ferns, curled tight like scrolls and nutty in flavour, were harvested into her basket with a sharp little rock she had found. And the little bundle of lamb’s quarters had her crowing for the earthy spinach-like plant.

It was clear that no one had gone through these parts, and everything was ripe for their picking. It was like a fucking treasure trove. There was enough for a massive salad and a good stock of medicinal teas at the very least.

Riven did not speak, seeming only to grunt in annoyance at her, looking slightly anxious with his ears up and twitching. But she could hear his panting, the hunger in him growing as he blew out a breath. Exhaustion. It was odd that the bunny did not care for random greens. But she supposed he just wasn’t educated enough to know about what was edible and what wasn’t.

Plus, he’d never thought to forage deeper into the forest that they lived in.

“So,” she started. “Why don’t you come out here without Veyr?”

“Why would I?”

He glared, moodily stomping on grass. She plucked a bundle of mushrooms, carefully loosening the soil and lifting each one individually. It would be delicious on a skillet with melting butter, salt and pepper. But they’d have to make do when it came to spices.

Riven scowled. “Veyr’s good at combat and hunting,” he explained slowly like she was five. “He can also trap meat. But that was a last resort; it’s too dangerous up here.” He blinked faster then, eyes going watery with a tremble of tears. “Urgh.” He sniffed, shaking his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He risked his life to keep us fed in winter; he wouldn’t do it otherwise.” His glare was acid then. “You don’t remember that?”

“I think I do,” she hummed. Her mind remained blissfully blank, save for thoughts of a random pot of stringy meat on a particularly cold night, breath puffing white in the air. Her hands had been raw and chapped, and the bottle cold in her hands. Winter. She had to plan for that. “I think I remember some kind of boiled meat.”

“That was the best part,” Riven hissed, his detest returning into his eyes. “The biggest chunk.” There was a pause as he regarded her, and Sloane knew he was running curses in his mind, expletives shot her way. His words were spat out next. “Veyr made me promise never to come up here.”

“I see,” she said, digging the ground for tubes of artichoke. The knobbly plant would be good roasted with a warm, earthy sweetness like a potato. She knew he was bristling behind her when she stood. “You know I’m only doing this because we’re dying and we need nutrients, right?” She considered her words carefully then. “I know the ferals are dangerous, and I know I’m putting us both in danger by coming here.”

Riven scoffed. He didn’t believe her, and he was probably right. Sloane wasn’t afraid of the ferals, not after her ordeal in the apocalypse. She was confident that she could take down a few, give Riven the time to run. But a pack would put them at a disadvantage. And her body was not ready for the strain of a full fight.

“But we can be careful, and we won’t stray too far,” she explained. “We’ll just take what we need, and then we’ll go after we get some food. Okay?”

There was a pause then from the bunny, and she turned to watch something in his face that seemed to crumple. A mood was settling over his shoulders like a darkened cloud. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’m only here because I don’t have a choice.”

“I know,” she said.

“It’s not like you actually know what you’re doing,” he said.

“I do,” Sloane stated, searching her mind for an excuse. “I used to study herbology. It was part of my curriculum to better the lives of the people. I never thought to use my skills. I was too depressed to give a damn.” That part was true, Sloane had been absolutely crushed by the loss of her wealth. Most of her days with Riven were a blur. “But now, I’m hungry and we need to eat.”

There was a mire of emotions in his eyes then, coupled with a bite of pain and disgust. She knew what he was thinking of: the lack of coin, the empty rice bowl, the need to seek help elsewhere because they had no income. The thought of Riven begging did not sit well with her; in fact, it stirred up a rush of rage that clung to her throat, twisting in her insides. There was so much she wanted to ask, so many questions lingering in her brain. Who did he look for? How did he obtain food? That had a flash of rage and loathing welling up within her, twisting bile in her throat.

She’d have to think about their finances if she didn’t want him to do it again.

The tuft of ramps growing in clumps of broad green leaves had her rushing over, surprised. It did not take long for her to dig them up, the white bulbs resembling scallions. The smell, garlicky and pungent in the air, but so distinctly culinary that it had her beaming.

Perfect.

“We could sell this,” she said, cogs turning in her head. “It’s a good aromatic, goes well with food.”

Riven sniffed, chuffing an unimpressed sound. “The weeds?”

“We could exchange some of it for rice.”

“You’re joking,” Riven laughed, pointing at her basket. “No one’s going to eat all this shit.” Her frown deepened, a sigh on her tongue. He was right. It would not do if the villagers did not recognise the wealth of wild vegetables that she had. But perhaps, if she were lucky, one or two might. And if they didn’t? She’d find a way to get them to try her craft.

She was digging at another spot now, fingers pulling at the soil for a very familiar plant, lacy and fern-like in her hands. The wild carrot hung from her fingers. And she dangled it before him, dusting away the soil from its slightly orange, root-like exterior. “Would you look at that—”

Riven lunged.