---
He nosed open a leaf sealed pouch hanging from the cart frame. Strips of salted wolf jerkies spilled in his mouth. He gulped them whole, barely tasting char, and waited for satisfaction.
Nothing.
The emptiness persisted—a cavernous hole widening behind ribs.
Another pouch. Shelled nuts roasted in charfruit glaze. Gone. A third: smoke-dried fish the catch frog the river, strong enough to make Zephyr gag on good days. But it vanished down the drake gullet. Still the ache writhed in his core like a coal left to burn without air.
Star's pupils narrowed with rising worry. He pivoted toward the cracked skull of the dead Fire Leopard. Its body still lay splayed on the igneous slab, steam curling off blackened fur. Predators rarely ate other predators, but Star wasn't any common predator.
His instinct whispered: fire feeds fire.
