Part Thirty-Seven — Not Just Food, After All

　"If I recall correctly," I said, shaking off the last of the old ache, "Mom told me this thing's actually tasty, even without a single ingredient touching it. Why it's all the way out here, past where I've usually found things this rare, I have no idea. Doesn't matter, though. I'm catching it."

　I moved to close the distance — and stopped, because the Ambrosabeast wasn't grazing at all.

　It was stalking something.

Wait. What's it actually going for?

　I followed its line of focus and found what it was hunting, lying still in a small clearing just ahead.

　A girl.

　Human, young — maybe thirteen, judging by her size — sprawled motionless on the forest floor.

What is she doing lying on the floor. Is she—

　"Is she dead?" I asked, out loud, already moving.

"I detect life force from her. She is not."

　"Oh, great," I muttered, breaking into a real run now. "That's one less terrible thing to deal with today, at least."

　The Ambrosabeast reached her a half-second before I did, jaws already opening—

　—and then I was simply there, standing between it and her, close enough that its own instincts finally caught up to what it was actually facing.

　To an ordinary observer, I probably looked exactly like what I was: an unassuming kid, unarmed, standing in the way of a genuine predator.

　To the Ambrosabeast, whatever senses it had for this sort of thing clearly told it something entirely different — because it went rigid, every predatory instinct in its body suddenly screaming at it that the thing standing in front of it was not remotely what it appeared to be.

　It turned to run.

"Kai," Anti-Subconsciousness said, almost bored. "Your food is running away."

　"No way in hell am I letting you get away," I said, and was above it before it had covered ten feet, coming down with a single strike that ended things instantly, cleanly, its head meeting the forest floor with a force that flattened it completely.

Good. That's dinner sorted, then.

　I turned to leave, already thinking ahead to how I'd actually cook the thing.

"Are you not forgetting something?"

　"What's that?"

"Her."

　"...Oh. Right. Her."

　I carried the girl back to my house without much ceremony, laying her down near the hearth where the warmth would actually do her some good, and got to work on the Ambrosabeast while I waited to see if she'd wake.

　She smelled dead, I want to be clear, in the sense that she'd clearly gone days without proper food, sleep, or water — pale, drawn, the specific hollow look of someone whose body had been running on nothing but pure stubbornness for longer than it should have had to.

Whoever did this to her. Whatever brought her out here alone. I've got questions, once she's actually able to answer them.

　The Ambrosabeast, for what it's worth, lived up to its name entirely.

　Even with nothing added, no seasoning, no real skill behind the cooking beyond what I'd taught myself over the past year — it was, without exaggeration, the best thing I'd eaten since arriving in this world.

Mom wasn't exaggerating.

Wish she'd gotten to actually see me catch one myself.

　I was midway through checking the meat when I heard movement behind me — small, uncertain, the sound of someone testing whether their legs still worked.

　"Um," a small voice said. "Who are you?"

　I turned.

　She was standing in the doorway, swaying slightly, looking at me like she wasn't entirely sure yet whether I was a threat or a rescue.

　"Oh, you're awake," I said, genuinely relieved. "I thought you were dead."

"I told you she was not dead," Anti-Subconsciousness said, only I could hear it.

Yeah, I know. Don't ruin the moment.

　"Um," the girl said again, tilting her head. "Who are you talking to?"

　"Nothing," I said quickly. "Don't worry about it. Here — have some of this."

　I held out a portion of the Ambrosabeast, and watched her hesitate for exactly one second before hunger won out entirely over caution.