Thorn (Werewolf) ✔

Chapter Thirteen

I place my collection of nutshells on the ground in a line as I hover the small rock above one. I try again for the tenth time to crack it open. We arrived back at the camp some time ago after an exhausting and confusing day of learning how to survive. He made me stab that damn tree almost fifty times and I still couldn't pierce a hole, not as good as his anyway. The only water I was able to pluck from it was a tiny little drip that stopped just as quickly as it began.

The water was a clear indication that I had done something right and it made me very proud of myself but then Thorn reminded me that I couldn't survive just from a drop of it.

"You need to get stronger," he said. "Eat as much protein as you can and train."

I didn't ask him what 'train' meant. I couldn't face it. He knows how weak I am, how hungry I am, and yet he won't help me with the nuts. He's trying to prove a point. As he sits there turning squirrel meat over a fire with a delighted smirk on his face, all I want to do is throw these shells at his skull.

I rock back onto my knees and I wipe my forehead as he lifts the stick higher and swipes a piece of meat from the stick. I swallow enviously as he chews it and makes satisfaction sounds. My stomach growls just watching him.

I use the rock to hit the shell again, over and over. I become desperate. What the hell is wrong with these things? Why won't they open?

I throw the rock to the ground in frustration and I hold my head in my hands while I pace dramatically in front of him. He chews a little slower, smirking at me through his swallows.

"They're bastards to open, aren't they?" he says. "That's why I and other predators eat meat."

"Shut up," I hiss. "Just shut up."

I close my eyes as I imagine killing something. I watched him butcher that rabbit yesterday and I threw up and that was when it was already dead. I can't do it. My hands tremble just thinking about it. But he's right. I've eaten meat my whole life. Expensive meat. It was always prepared for me and made into delicious meals that I miss so much right now. How can I want to eat meat without facing the fact that I have to kill it first? It's hypocritical.

The alternative is eating nuts and fruit for the rest of my life and I can't even get to the nuts.

"You need to realize what you are, Devon," Thorn says softly. "I'm higher than anything else on the food chain and I don't cry about it. It's just nature, it's brutal."

I look down at the delicious-smelling meat on the stick. My mouth starts to water. I fold my arms.

"What if I can't?" I say.

"Then go home."

I whimper quietly as I turn and look into the quiet woods. I bite on my nail.

"Hunting isn't murder," he says. "You are eating to survive."

"Don't you feel something? Don't you feel bad?"

"Every time. I respect the animals that I kill. The moment you lose that respect is the moment it becomes murder."

I turn back around. "Why are you out here, Thorn? Why don't you go home?"

He twists the stick away from the fire slowly and blows on it. "This is my home."

I take one more look at that meat and my stomach can't handle it. It growls so loudly that Thorn stares at it.

"Please," he says. "You're making me uncomfortable."

"Fine. You win."

He smiles. "You'll let me teach you how to hunt?"

I nod. I'm not entirely sure that I'm okay with it but I agree just so he'll let me have some food. His plan worked and I try not to think about his satisfaction or smugness as I sit beside him and extract big chunks of meat from the burnt stick. There's still a lot left. He hardly touched it. I wonder if he would have given it to me anyway.