As I grow closer to the creek, I sense no-name's presence. It's strange to think he's been around all this time, and I didn't notice. I suppose I was so busy coming to terms with my new, unexpected life and how to survive. Maybe I just didn't sense something off until I had been here long enough. However, I felt his gaze on me so strongly the other day that I can't help but wonder if he wanted me to know he was there.

But then, why was he so hostile once we met? The last thing I want is to confront him again, but I need water.

Screw it; he doesn't get to tell me where to be. I yank the heavy sled past the game trail to the clearing. He's standing with a fishing pole in hand in the same spot where I usually fish. I stop and study him for a moment. He's wearing a pair of ripped-up loose-fit jeans with a baggy faded tee shirt. From a distance like this, he looks like any other guy out fishing, well, with the exception of the choppy hair. There's a jacket tied around his waist and a flask of water alongside a bucket next to him. 

A moment is all it takes for him to sense me. He turns to look at me as I walk closer. His body tenses as I grow closer, and a stunned look highlights his face as he takes me in.

"What the hell happened–" he trails off as his gaze drops down to the sled with the bloody mess of a deer in it. "Oh."

"Oh?" I killed a buck by myself, and all he can say is oh?

"I heard some shots, assumed you missed, good for you." 

"It was much easier than I thought it would be," I say with a casual shrug.

"Was it now?" His tone is as mocking as his smoky grey-blue eyes, which look me up and down as he adds. "Did you fight it with your bare hands?"

I look down at my once-upon-a-time gray sweatshirt; it is coated with blood, and so are my jeans. I'd bet my face is, too, recalling how it splattered all over me.

"Is there another way?" I quip with a tiny smirk. His lips twitch ever so slightly, and his eyes flicker with something, but it's gone so fast that I may have imagined it.

"Well good for you, but most of it will go to waste. You can't eat that fast enough before it will spoil, and it's not cold enough to keep it outside. You'd be better off trapping rabbits and squirrels..." His eyes trail off behind me at something near the water hole.

"Is that what you do?" I follow his gaze but frown when I don't see a thing.

"You won't see them. I make sure they're practically invisible."

"See what?"

"My snares," he replies. "Don't ever come over here and start shooting. You'll scare the animals away from the water hole."

"Maybe, but they'd have to come back and drink at some point," I argue.

"There's other water sources out here," he says.

"Where?"

"There is a small pond out by my camp, and if you go far enough west, you'll find a cranberry bog. It should be ready to harvest in a week or so."

"A cranberry bog!" That is the best news ever because the crab apple trees are all pretty much depleted now. "On my side of the woods?"

"I'm sorry, what?" He looks up abruptly. "Your side?"

"You're the one who said, ' Stay on your side, and I'll stay mine,' " I remind him. "And here you are by my creek."

He scoffs loudly. "This isn't your creek. Not one inch of this land belongs to you."

"Yeah, well, it's not yours either," I reply haughtily.

"How do you know it isn't?"

I arch an eyebrow. "You can't be that much older than me. You expect me to believe you own this land?"

"I don't care what you believe, but when I said stay out of each other's way. I didn't agree to split the woods up. There are sources of food in the lowlands that I don't have in the deep pines."

"Like the kale?" I guess, patting my backpack, which is stuffed with it and my water jug, I set it down and open it to show him, and then take the jug out. "Why don't we just harvest stuff together and share it then?"

"I told you you want to be here; you figure out how to stay alive. You're not becoming another problem for me out here."

"I'm the one with a sled full of food, and—" I make a show of looking into his empty bucket. "I don't see a single fish in there."

"That is because you are out here every single day and they got wise to it. Don't get all cocky over one deer. You have no idea what winter is like out here."

"I can handle it," I say firmly as I face off with him, holding his gaze. "I don't need your help. I only thought it would be easier for both of us, but clearly, you're more stubborn than smart."

"The only reason you're still here is because I'm letting you be, and you know what? I shouldn't! The best thing I could do for you is walk you right out of here and make sure you don't return."

"Back to this? I told you—" I pause to gather my thoughts. Fuck it, enough of this. "You know what happens to me if I leave here? Something a hell of a lot worse than starving to death, and I doubt you want that on your conscience."

His face pales, and his eyes widen. His lips part and then close as if he's unsure what to say.

Shit. Why'd I say all that?

"What do you mean by that?" His voice is quieter but harder at the same time.

"Never mind. I don't have time for this. I need to get water and get this deer back before the meat spoils."

I move past him and kneel to fill my jug up. His eyes are still on the bloody meat in the sled, and I don't miss the flicker of longing in his gaze. His bucket is empty, and I can only assume he's had a long day with no luck fishing, and that always sucks.

I feel a tug at my heart, and my mom's voice in my head says, take the higher ground, Sammy.

Damn it, I don't want to, but — she's right, I know she is.

"This is a lot of meat, and I don't think it'll all fit in the smoker I crafted," I say slowly as I stand. 

"You already made a smoker?" He looks stunned by that, and it gives me a burst of confidence to know I impressed him.

"I'm smart, I learn quickly, and I have a good memory. I don't have to be your enemy out here. I can help you."

"You—"

"Before you get all macho and laugh at that idea, take another look at my sled."

He does and doesn't hide the hungry look in his eyes.

"I'll give you some meat if you help me break it down. I'll even let you have some of the stew I plan to make."

"Thought you said you're smart?"

"I did."

"Then why would you give up meat when you already have a smoker?"

"Because I do need help breaking this thing down. I've never done it, and I don't know how long I smoke it for either. If you help me with that, I'll give you some meat. I think it's a fair trade that helps both of us."

He's silent for a long moment, and then, finally, he mutters, "Fine. I'll help you this one time, but it isn't becoming a regular thing."

"I wouldn't expect it to be." I refrain from rolling my eyes. He agreed to help, so I'll take that as a win. I shove my water jug back into my bag, and he scoffs out loud.

"That thing is tiny."

"It's all I got. I wish I had just one big bucket. Where did you get all those anyway?"

"Around." Is all he offers, and my gaze finds its way across the creek. I'm more certain than ever that there are cabins over there. But it's not like I can ask him. I'm not supposed to know anything about this land.

"Is there anyone else out here?" I do ask that, and a shadow crosses his face.

"Not anymore."

Not anymore!? What does that mean? Like they were here, and they left, or—I shudder and look to him for more of an explanation, but he's already turned away.

He's walking towards the trail, and I quickly yank the rope of my sled and hasten my steps to follow him. He knows the way to my camp easily, it seems, and I frown at that as I follow him to the clearing, not that it's surprising, but still a little disturbing.

"Oh... this isn't bad." He stops at my smoker as I drag the sled close to it. 

"I told you I figure things out fast."

"So, you did. Where are your knives?"

"I'll be right back with them."

I leave him and run inside, grabbing my stockpot and toolbox with the extra knives.

I take a moment to glance at my reflection in the glass doors of the wood-burning stove. Holy crap! My face is covered in dried blood. It's disgusting!

I take a tee shirt and wipe my face up as best I can, and then head back out to join him. He's already moved the deer parts from the sled to the ground and is building a small fire under my smoker.

As he does that, I start a bigger one in the fire pit for the stew. The sun shining all day has dried everything, so it doesn't take long to get it going. I set the stock pot with a little water near it.

"I thought stew could last a few days if I keep it hot. I think I'll add some of this kale at the end."

"Yeah, that's a smart idea. We can cut some meat into smaller chunks, but you can also let some of the bones cook into the broth over the next few days.  You can use the heart and organs in it, too."

I cringe at that idea, and he rolls his eyes.

"You can't afford to be grossed out unless you want to starve. The organs are good for you; can't waste anything out here." He sounds like he's scolding a child, which annoys me all over again.

"Whatever, Mr. Know it all. Show me what to do, and let's get this done."

"Watch and learn."

It takes the better part of an hour to skin and process the deer, but I catch on quickly watching him. We cut up a bunch as he suggested and toss it into the pot, along with the thigh bones, and even though it does still gross me out, we also toss all the organs in.

As that starts cooking we start cutting the rest of the meat into long strips for the smoker. It takes quite a bit of time, but the air fills with the smell of dinner as we work, motivating both of us to work fast. We fit a lot of it into the smoker, but as I promised, I wrap a bunch up in some leaves for him to take back with him. We use a little of my water to wash our hands; between that and what I needed for the stew, I'm going to have to be careful with what I have left. I'll need to get to the creek early tomorrow, so I make a mental note to do that. 

"How long do I let the meat sit in the smoker?" I ask him as I toss a bunch of kale into the nearly ready stew.

"At least six hours. Make sure it's fully dried out. It should look kind of like jerky. Where are you going to store it?"

I frown. My cans aren't big enough, and I have nothing else.

"I think I'll need to make a box from sticks. I have this fishing wire I used for the grates in the smoker." I pull it out of the toolbox to show him.

"You can use that for snares too," he comments but doesn't offer to show me how. I'll just have to find one of his by the water hole and teach myself.

He stands up, grabbing his wrapped-up meat as he does. "Don't leave the smoker unattended, don't let the fire die, and keep your gun ready. If you see a bear, don't hesitate; just shoot; even if you miss, you'll scare it off, and I'll hear the gunshot. You probably won't, though. They are pretty far east."

"By you?" I ask, alarmed. Doesn't that scare him?

"Wait..." I stop him, and he shoots me a strange look.

"Don't you want some of this stew?"

"I should get this meat into my smoker..." he says, but his hungry gaze lingers on the steamy pot for a long moment.

"You're as hungry as I am. Your meat will be fine for a little longer."

"It's — you gave me more than enough."

"Will you stop being so stubborn? Sit down and have a bowl of stew, Smoky."

"The hell did you call me?"

"Well, I don't know your real name, and it's better than a jerk-face, although that may suit you better."

"I just spent my afternoon helping you instead of fishing," he points out.

"Not for free. But yes, you did, so sit, and let me feed you." We stare at each other for a long moment, neither relenting. I finally sigh and soften my voice, "Please?"

"Fine, but this isn't going to —"

"Become a regular thing?" I fill in for him, and he scowls at the interruption.

"You're getting a little predictable," I toss the words over my shoulder as I  head back inside. I  grab two jars and my can to scoop the soup. I check my fave one more time. It looks better, but I wipe a little dried blood I missed by my temple. I then brush my snarly hair out a bit with my fingers. 

When I get back outside, he's sitting near the fire on the stump I usually sit on. It's gotten a little cooler, and he put on the leather jacket that was tied around his waist before. The back of it is totally shredded. I wonder if something happened to it. That can't just be from age, can it? 

I haul over a large wood stump I haven't chopped into firewood yet and sit beside him. I scoop two hearty cans of stew into each jar and then hand him one.

"I don't have a fork or spoon or anything, sorry," I say. "We'll just have to drink it."

"Surprised you didn't whittle one out a stick yet," he comments.

"Good idea. Something to do when I'm sitting here guarding the smoker tonight."

A tiny smile tugs at his lips but doesn't last. He lifts the jar to his lips, taking a large sip. The liquid drips over his chin. His dirty, rugged face, full of brothy liquid, is weird. I can't help but let out a small giggle, earning a dark look from him.

Too hungry to wait I mimic his actions with my own jar, taking too large of a gulp. A huge chunk of what I think is heart has filled my mouth; the weird jelly-like texture throws me off. I almost gag on it. As a reflex, I spit it out, and now my chin is dripping with thick broth all the way down to my shirt.

He laughs, and it's a surprising and sort of soothing sound his laugh, all deep and velvety. It's over as fast as it starts, but it lifts something between us. I wipe my chin as I chuckle at myself, too.

"Try a smaller sip and eat the organs with the meat so it's not so weird for you," he offers.

On my next slurp, I get a bite of a nice chunk of meat. As I sink my teeth into the venison it tastes incredible. The texture is a little tougher than beef, but as it cooks longer, it'll get more tender. It has a savory and slightly wild flavor with a touch of sweetness. It's so warm and soothing I close my eyes and savor every moment of the bite. 

I took his advice about the organs and eat smaller pieces of them with the meat also some kale along with them, and they don't seem so bad that way. I imagine it's mushrooms or something in my head, though. 

We remain quiet as we gorge ourselves. When we finish our first jars, I don't ask; I simply refill his in addition to mine.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"Sure." My belly is getting full, but I can't stop eating. It's been so long since I've had something so homey and comforting. It's so warm and tasty.

"So those mushrooms all over the pine trees, how do I know which ones are safe?" I ask.

"Don't do it," he warns. "I can identify a chanterelle, but even I air it with extreme caution. Some look just like the chanterelles and are still poisonous. Don't risk it; it's not worth it for the little bit of calories they have."

"Okay," I sigh; bummer, there are so many. "Is there more kale out west?"

"Yeah. The purple kale you found was ready about a week ago, but I harvested a lot of it then. The green starts growing fast when it gets cold, we;ll get a crpp in a week or so and another  sometime late November. Every year there's more and more of it, so should get a lot this year."

"That's great," I am relieved to hear this. But... wait, he said the purple was ready a week ago, and I still found quite a bit. Why didn't he harvest it all? Did he leave some for me to find?

Nah... probably just ran out of room in his bag or something.

"You said there's a cranberry bog, too?" I press on, thinking I might as well get as much information as I can from him.

"Go southwest from where you found the kale. There's a deer stand you won't miss. That's a good spot to hunt deer. They drink and eat out of the bog."

I nod slowly as I retain this to memory, and then we fall silent again as we finish our second helpings.

"You were here at my camp. I could sense it." I just state it as a fact, not an accusation.

"I wanted to— I don't know, get information, I guess. I didn't touch anything."

"Did you go inside?"

"No. Just looked in the window."

"You would've seen the shelf with the flour and stuff then..." I mention slowly.

"I'd save all that if I were you. Could be a lifesaver come winter."

"I'm trying to save it, but I use it here and there when I fry nuts, or I'll flour the fish to make it more filling."

"The nuts have an oil already you don't need to do all that. I get your idea with the fish but you should be making fish stews and getting as much fat as you can from them. Then smoke any extra fish you get to store for the winter. You should also be hunting grouse, rabbit, and squirrels, those all make great stews." 

"I know," I agree, with everything but the squirrels for personal reasons. "I am going to expand hunting, but um, the flour, sugar and crisco isn't all I have. I have a few other things. Like, rice, noodles, some soups, and oatmeal. It's all under my bed, tied up in a t-shirt, and I'm saving that for emergency nights."

He shoots me a bewildered look. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Why not? You aren't a thief."

"How the hell would you know that?"

"Because if you were, you would have taken my food and whatever else I had in the cabin when you had the chance. You didn't."

"You didn't take anything from my camp either, and I had fish in the smoker," he says.

"I'm not a thief either."

"Just a runway." The way he says that... it feels like he's questioning it, and it makes me wonder if he bought my story. I cast a sideways glance at him, but his face gives nothing away.

"It's going to be dark in an hour or so. I should go." He stands, glancing down at me, then jerks his head toward the smoker. "Keep an eye on this stuff. Don't let that fire die."

"I won't."

"Catfish smoke well, that's what you were smelling in mine. The best time to catch them is midday when it's warm."

He's helping me. He might be a bit surly, but... I don't think he's a bad guy. I really don't. My mom is never wrong, and it was her voice that told me to invite him here.

"Thank you," I offer a soft smile, and he shifts his gaze away, so I add. "Smoky."

He scowls so deeply I nearly laugh at it.

"It's Jackson," he says in a gruff voice.

"Was that so hard?"

His face tenses as he "shuffles" from foot to foot. I can see he is anxious to get away, and I'm not offended. I can sense he's been alone for a long time out here, and being with another person, especially for hours, has probably drained him. As someone who can be a little antisocial in my own right. I can empathize with this.

"You better get going so you can get back before dark," I offer him an out, instantly seeing him relax at my words. "Thanks again for your help."

"It's fine. It was a fair trade." He holds up the meat I gave him and shoves it into his bag, which he slings over his shoulder. "Night, Sam."

"Goodnight, Jackson."

My eyes stay on his back as he retreats, and it isn't until he disappears into the woods that I look away. My gaze finds the fire pit, watching the feisty little embers as they dance around the top of the fire. 

"He remembered by name," I whisper into the flames.