The sky was darkening. Twilight fell quicker than usual. The damp air from the valley still clung to them, but now they had to climb the steep, rocky hills. The journey was far from easy, especially after a bloody battle and an exile neither of them had asked for.
Rogg walked in silence. Talking was pointless, he thought. Yara was too stubborn, and he was far too exhausted to argue.
Up ahead, Yara walked briskly without a word of complaint. The pack on her back was heavy—provisions, medicine, small tools—all carried by herself. Her wounds hadn't fully healed, yet her expression remained fierce, her eyes focused forward, never hinting at the need to stop.
Rogg, carrying only his weapons—a spear, a knife, and a bow—began to fall behind. His body ached, his bones felt like iron. His injuries might not have been as severe as Yara's, but the battle with Lagosh days ago had drained him completely.
"Phew…" Rogg exhaled, trying to keep up with her pace. "Unbelievable. She walks like a bull, and she's barely half my size."
He stumbled behind her. In the distance, Yara showed no signs of slowing down. Her steps were relentless, even as true night began to fall.
"She's not a woman… she's a monster with a woman's face," Rogg muttered under his breath, half amused, half annoyed.
Suddenly, her voice snapped through the dark.
"Idiot! Keep whining like that and I'll leave you here! Walk on your own if you're so tough!"
Rogg froze. "What? She's mad?" he whispered, startled. "Can she read my thoughts?"
He quickened his steps. "Yara! We need to find shelter, it's getting dark!" he called out.
Yara didn't turn around. Instead, she sat beneath a large tree, opened her bag, and started preparing food.
"Well, fine then," Rogg grumbled as he walked closer. "If she keeps acting like this, we're going to die getting eaten by night beasts."
Yara chewed something slowly, glancing at Rogg. She spoke in her own language, "Want some? If not, shut up. I'm not your caretaker."
Rogg tilted his head. "Did she just call me useless? Or... did she say I should eat grass?"
He sat beside her.
"I don't know what you're saying, but if you stay here, we're easy prey for wolves. This place is too exposed. We need real cover, at least a denser tree or some rocks."
Yara sighed, handed him a piece of boiled root. "Eat, big man who complains too much."
"Thanks," Rogg replied, biting into it. "At least we agree on food."
Yara said nothing, returning to her meal without a glance at him.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the sounds of night birds and the rustling of branches above them. Rogg looked at Yara, then suddenly stood.
He began gathering her belongings, packing them neatly into the large rucksack she carried. Yara stood as soon as she noticed.
"Hey! What are you doing?! Put that down!" she barked.
Rogg kept packing. "I know you're strong. But tonight, we need brains, not muscles. Let's find a safe spot. Somewhere behind a rock or tree, something to mask our scent."
Yara scowled but didn't stop him. She knew he was right. They couldn't sleep in the open.
"Don't think I'm giving in because you're right," she muttered.
"I don't," Rogg replied, glancing at her. "I know you're strong. But we're better off strong together, not alone."
Yara didn't respond, but her pace slowed slightly, matching his.
For the first time since their exile from the village, they walked side by side—not in anger, but in a silence no longer heavy with bitterness.
They eventually found a small hollow nestled between rocky cliffs, just big enough for the two of them. The stone walls shielded them from the cutting night wind. Rogg placed down his spear and got to work. He swept away dry leaves, arranged small stones as a windbreak, and piled dry grass into the corner for bedding.
Yara sat quietly, watching him with a confused but curious expression.
"Is he serious? Laying out wood without fire?" Yara thought, squinting.
Rogg ignored her stare. He pulled two flat stones from his pouch and began striking them quickly. Sparks leapt in the air, catching the dry grass. It didn't take long for flames to rise. The orange glow pushed the shadows from their refuge.
Yara's eyes widened in silence.
"He actually made fire…" she whispered. "Like... a sorcerer."
In her village's tradition, fire only came from lightning in the forest. Fire was a rare gift from the sky, allowed only to be handled by the elders and preserved through the seasons. But this stranger before her had summoned flame with nothing but two stones?
Yara hugged her knees. For the first time, she felt something she hadn't in years—curiosity.
Night deepened. Under the moonlight reflecting off the stone cliffs, Yara gazed into the flames warming her skin. The fire's glow gave her face a soft radiance, a sharp contrast to her worn clothes and tired body.
"It's been so long since I felt... free," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Since she was fifteen, Yara had been separated from her family, trained to be a sacrificial offering. Her life was regimented—her steps measured, her meals rationed. She had to be clean, graceful, perfect. All for the elders and the so-called god who demanded pure offerings.
But tonight was different. She sat on the ground, no sacred paint on her skin, no ceremonial garb, no watching eyes. Just her... and Rogg.
Once, behind the stone walls where the Rauh Metutu raised her, Yara learned about healing—about life and death. She was a clever girl, quick to learn. But she was also stubborn. Many times, she snuck out of the house, pretending to be sick just so she could play with the village children—even though none of them knew who she really was. They all called her by meaningless nicknames. And Yara didn't mind.
Because she knew, beyond the ritual... she was nobody.
Rogg sat across from her, sharpening an arrowhead made of bone. He glanced at her several times, but said nothing. He could see something in her eyes—a weight he didn't yet understand. And he himself still hadn't figured out who Yara really was.
"The first time I saw you, you were different from everyone else," Rogg finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was low but firm, his hands moving as he used gestures to help her understand.
Yara turned to him. "That's because I am different," she replied flatly.
"When they tied me to that ritual pole… you were the only one who looked at me like a human," said Rogg. "Not like a sacrifice."
Yara didn't respond right away. Her gaze lingered on the fire.
"I never wanted to be a sacrifice either," she said softly. "I... just wanted to be free. Like tonight."
Memories returned—of her father. A drunk, yes, but the only one who defended her when the village chose her to be sacrificed.
"My father stood in front of them all," Yara whispered. "He screamed. He refused. But no one listened."
Her face hardened.
"They called him a traitor. They beat him until he couldn't get back up. Then they dragged me away. Taro tried to stop them... but he was too young back then. They slashed his face with a blade. Marked him for failing."
Rogg listened in silence.
"But he survived," Yara continued. "And I swore I would return for him."
Taro was now grown. A skilled hunter. He had even helped capture Rogg when he was first taken.
Yara gave a bitter smile. "And me… I ended up saving you. A stranger who was supposed to be the offering. I should hate you."
Rogg raised an eyebrow. "But you don't."
Yara looked at him sharply, but slowly, a smile spread across her face.
"No," she said. "I can't."
That night, the fire burned until dawn. And though their journey ahead was still long, both of them knew—in a world this cruel, sometimes the only thing they had… was each other.