Yigars stayed in bed three days. Vaega, after a steely glance at the ravaged garden, had methodically chopped up the two dead boars and stacked the meat and organs on shelves.

“Is there enough for the winter?” Trion asked.

“Three hundred kilos of meat. We lost nearly the same amount when the boars ate—“ Vaega paused, angry. “The whole fucking garden!”

Trion understood this is how Vaega expressed her frustration. There was feral intensity in her eyes. Her jaws tightened; her lips stiffened.

“Woah, woah! It’s okay!”

Vaega changed suddenly, appearing haggard, looking as though she had forgotten who she was. She brought her hands to her forehead.

“I’m sorry, Trion. I’m sorry.”

He embraced her, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“This place is awful. No matter what I do I can’t store enough food. Yigars said winters are often long and cold,” she bemoaned, her cheek against Trion’s shoulder.

“We’ll be fine. You’ll see. We’ll save and we’ll hunt. We’ll be okay.”

She stepped out of his arms and resumed packing the meat. She glanced up at him for a moment without saying a word. His reassurances meant nothing to her. She understood the caloric intake required to sustain life. No matter how she calculated the number in her mind, there was only food for one hundred days for six people. That would not be enough for winter and early spring. They would starve.

“Do you want me to help you?”

Vaega shook her head.

“I’ll go then. I’ll build a weapon bench.”

Veaga slammed a slab of ribs on the metal tray without looking back.

Trion kept his gaze in her direction for one second more, then left the kitchen. Outside, he busied himself assembling stones for the furnace, then made clay mortar to set the stones and line the inside of the furnace. By the end of the day, with Ipsena’s help, he had constructed a rudimentary metal furnace and ironworks. Agra, who had found the blueprints for the ironworks in one of the survival guides, looked on as Daroo and Trion loaded firewood in the lower section of the furnace.

On the fourth day, when Yigars was out again, blinking in the bright sunlight, heavy smoke was pouring out of the chimney and Ipsena was hammering a long sword into shape. Striking the glowing steel, she made sparks fly with each hit of the hammer. Daroo kept adding firewood and pumping the bellow that blew air into the firepit—flames danced wildly and embers burned bright.

In a smooth motion, Ipsena swung the sword into a barrel of cold water, where it hissed and steamed.

With a thick cloth in his right hand, Trion took the sword and raised it up above his head. The blade reflected the yellow and red flames of the fire. He then set it down on the work bench next to the others.

Later, around the campfire, huddled together against the cold and the dark, they ate boar meat. Daroo had helped Vaega with the cooking, and they all ate their fill.

“We also made spear tips. Thin. Perfect for hunting,” said Trion.

Yigars nodded. He had tested one earlier. They would pierce a boar or an antelope. They would even skewer a bear, although it would take a few to kill the beast. Against a wilderwolf, he was not so sure. The weapon would be too heavy with the spear shaft. He put the wilderwolf away from his mind.

Next to him, Ipsena sat quietly. She had beaten steel to make those weapons, yet she was not sore. She wanted to do more, to feel again the heat on her skin, the blood coursing through her veins. She loved the violence of hammering the metal to her will.

Yigars nudged her with his wrist. “What are you thinking about?”

She turned to face him, smiled, and replied, “I’ll tell you later.” She patted his thigh.

After serving the last of the roasted boar, Vaega sat next to Trion, weaving her hand under his tunic. He was warm, strong. She felt, for once, a sense of peace.

“Eat more, love,” Vaega said, her hand on the skin of his belly.

He smiled and took another bite from the meat on his plate.

The next morning they began training in sword fighting.