The sight of the two scrawny rabbits, limp in Madog's hands, ignited a desperate, almost feral light in the eyes of the starving men. It was a pitiful offering against the vastness of their hunger, but it was meat. Real sustenance. "Quickly," Cadogan urged, his own mouth dry, his stomach clenching with anticipation. "Prepare them. We need to eat."
There was no question of a proper fire. Their fuel was gone, and the risk of smoke attracting the "others" was too great, especially now they knew their enemies were close enough to observe Madog's trapping. Under Madog's skilled, economical movements, the rabbits were swiftly skinned and gutted using his sharp knife, the offal set aside – nothing would be wasted. He spitted the small carcasses on sharpened sticks. Rhys managed to coax a tiny, almost smokeless flame from a few remaining slivers of dry bark and the last of their tinder, just enough to char the exterior of the meat, sealing in some of the juices. The aroma, faint as it was, filled the cold, damp tower with an almost unbearable promise.
The "feast" was a somber, hurried affair. Madog divided the meat into six small, fiercely equal portions. They ate with their hands, tearing at the slightly bloody, smoke-singed flesh. It was tough, stringy, and tasted mostly of woodsmoke, but to Cadogan, it was the most exquisite meal he had ever consumed. He watched his men. Rhys devoured his share with grim satisfaction, his one eye gleaming. The youths, Owain and Griff, ate with a desperate intensity, their earlier apathy momentarily forgotten. Dai, leaning against the wall, ate a little of the meat. His eyes seemed briefly more alert, but then he started coughing hard, his weak body shaking. After his coughing stopped, the room was very quiet except for the sound of Dai struggling to breathe. The small amount of food had lessened their hunger only for a short time. Soon, they all felt the cold truth of their position once more.
"The tracks you saw, Madog," Cadogan said, his voice low. "Near the snares. How fresh?" Madog met his gaze. "Hours old, perhaps less. They passed after I set the traps, or while I waited. Before I checked them." "So they knew," Rhys growled. "They knew you were there, knew about the snares. And they let you take the rabbits?" Madog shrugged, a minute movement. "Perhaps. Or perhaps they hunt elsewhere today. Or they wait."
"They are playing with us," Owain whispered, his brief resurgence of spirit extinguished. "Like a cat with a crippled bird." Cadogan didn't dispute it. The "others" had demonstrated their ability to approach unseen, to leave warnings, to observe. Allowing Madog to retrieve the rabbits could be a sign of their confidence, a display of contempt, or part of a larger, more insidious strategy he couldn't yet fathom. It could also mean they simply hadn't been in a position to intercept Madog without revealing more of their own numbers or position.
"Can we risk setting snares again tonight?" Griff asked, his voice small, already dreading the return of the hunger. "They will expect it now," Madog said. "They will watch the area. Or trap it themselves." Cadogan nodded in agreement. That small avenue of hope was likely closed. "No. No more snares for now. It's too dangerous. They learn too quickly." He looked at their dwindling waterskins. The stream water was a blessing, but it wouldn't last forever. The foul well remained their only other option within the palisade, and that was a slow poison. "Our food is gone again," he stated the obvious. "The rabbits were a reprieve, nothing more. We need a sustainable plan, or we weaken here until they decide to finish us."
His mind raced. The "others" were hunters. They had a camp. They had meat. They had fire. They had all the things his group desperately lacked. The idea he had briefly entertained yesterday – some kind of raid or theft from their camp – returned, more insistent now, fueled by the fleeting taste of meat and the growing certainty of their doom if they remained passive. Madog had said it was too risky, and he was right. But what was the alternative? Slow starvation? He thought of the symbols on the tower wall, the "watching eye." Dai's tales of ancient spirits. Were these "others" guardians of this valley, protectors of old ways? Or simply desperate men, like themselves, clinging to a harsh existence, unwilling to share scarce resources? Their actions – the murder in the hut, the arrow fired at Madog, the rabbit's head – spoke of a ruthless territoriality, not a desire for parley.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Dai let out a low moan, his body slumping further against the wall. His breathing became a shallow, ragged whisper. The small portion of rabbit meat had done little to rally his failing strength. Cadogan went to him. The old man's skin was cold, clammy. His eyes were half-closed, unfocused. "Dai?" Cadogan said gently. The old man's lips moved, but no sound came out. Then, a single, shuddering breath, and a stillness. Morfudd's words echoed in Cadogan's mind: "The land… it fights back." Glyndŵr had just claimed its first victim from their small, desperate band. And the sun had not yet set on their second full day. The fragile hope kindled by Madog's catch dissolved into the cold, hard reality of death. Five now remained, and the shadows in the valley seemed to lengthen, reaching for them.