I thought I knew hunger before, but I had no idea how bad it gets. It's been nearly two weeks since we lost the meat. Thankfully, we haven't had any more blizzards, but the weather has grown colder, and finding meat has become difficult.

I was warned, I know, but— I had no idea.

I'd give anything to have the crab apples and nuts I was munching on daily when I arrived.  

My tummy almost always feels empty except for those first few hours after we eat, and I am getting used to it growling all the time. I don't mind that so much. It's the sharp hunger pains I hate.  Sometimes, they are intense enough to bring tears to my eyes.  After returning from working outside, I always feel weak and shaky, and a few times this week, I even got a head rush, as if I might pass out.

 I've been trying to hide all this from Jax. He's worried enough as it is. It's made a little easier since I don't usually see him until dinner, and it's better when I eat. But, the smoked meat in the oily water that's replaced stew as our usual meal doesn't last long, and I always wake up hungry. I can only imagine what he's feeling if I feel like this. I see him constantly give me more, and he's spending more energy than me, too, a lot more. 

Every day, he's up and gone hunting before dawn. Desperate to get us some big game. He's often out past dark, leaving me all worried.

I search and reset traps and occasionally I'll ice-fish in the pond or gather wood nearby. None of this takes me much longer than late afternoon, however. Most of my days are spent sitting in the cabin, where I wait and worry about Jax.

I can't have him running himself ragged like this.

This morning, I forced myself to wake up when I heard him up and moving around. I sat at the table, waiting for him to return from the outhouse.

"Whatcha doing up so early, sweet thing?" he asks as he steps in, a burst of cold air coming in with him. He firmly shuts the door and gives me his adorable smile.

Damn it, I don't need him all making me all gushy when I'm about to get serious with him. I clear my throat and sit up straighter as I say, "I'm making you take the day off. I'm going out today."

"What?" He looks confused. "No one is taking a day off when we have no food."

"Well, it's not a whole day off then," I bargain. "You can check the traps and then take the rest of the day. I will try to get us some game."

"Sam, no."

"What do you mean no?" I ask sharply.

"I mean, no. You can't —"

"I can't what? Hunt? Yes, I can. I have, and you know it!"

"I'm not saying you can't, like literally can't," he says quickly, wide-eyed at my harsh tone, which makes me feel bad.  Sheesh, I didn't need to snap like that. What is wrong with me? 

"The creek, Sam. It's frozen," he clarifies. 

Our eyes meet, and his are full of fear, cold, hard fear. I release a soft breath as a wave of understanding comes over me. 

"Jax, I'll stay away from the creek," I assure him. "I can go west towards the lowlands."

"If any of them crossed over, they could be anywhere in these woods looking for food. Fuck, I worry about you out here checking traps or walking to the pond. I can't sit here while you are out there."

"We are a team, and you must let me pull my weight," I argue.

"I do! You do!" he insists. "Knowing you are here taking care of things and watching the cabin helps me focus. I know I keep coming up empty, and I'm sorry, baby, but please. You have to let me be the one in the woods, not you."

"I'm not upset you haven't gotten anything," I say as I look at him with furrowed brows. "Is that what you think?"

"No, but I am," he groans as he collapses into the other chair across from me. "We need meat. You need meat badly. I am doing everything I can to get it for you, and I can't.  I keep seeing your face get thinner, and damn it... I need to be out there now. I got to score something big."

The desperation in his voice is reflected in those haunted, smoky eyes, and a pit forms in my gut.

"Jax, it's not all on you," I say, standing up and moving closer to him, kneeling down so our faces are closer. "I told you this before, and I meant it. You are not automatically responsible for me just because Franky brought me here."

"I don't give two shits about Franky right now. This has nothing to do with him. I can't let anything happen to you, Sam. Not to you, I can't lose you too," his voice trembles at the end, and my heart nearly melts into a puddle. 

Of course, he's freaked out and paranoid about losing the first person he's had in years. I would be, too, had I gone through what he did.  

"Please," he begs as he pulls me closer. "I know it's unfair and how bad you want to help, but I need you to promise me you'll stay close to camp. Every time I think about what could happen to you..."

He doesn't finish his thought, but the sheer terror that flashes through his eyes does it for him.

"I don't want you out there either, though," I say as my heart rate increases. I forgot momentarily how terrified I am of the wolves, and now I'm scared for Jax. "Can't we both hunt close to camp?"

"No, sweet Sam, because that'll scare off any of the little game we're hoping to trap." His hand finds my cheek. "You don't have to be scared for me."

"Yes, I do," I argue, but I don't pull away from his touch. Instead, I lean into it. "You can't lie to me and tell me you aren't in danger every single day out there."

"I know, but... I'm in less danger than you are," he says slowly. "And before you get mad at that, hear me out. It's hard to explain my relationship with these woods, but being here alone as long as I have makes me more observant, I guess, than most people would be.  I know everything, how it should look, sound, feel. If something is off, I sense it."

I slowly nod, as I've seen it myself, on hikes and stuff, him stopping suddenly to listen for something I didn't even hear.

I stand up to head back to my chair, but he pulls me into his lap instead, and I cuddle against his chest as he holds me close, his hands stroking down my tangled hair. "I'm sorry, baby."

"Sorry?" I lift my head and peer into his eyes. "For what?"

"For the elk. I should have–"

"The elk?" I question with a frown. "That was my fault." 

"It is not your fault!" He insists and then adds, "I told you that day it wasn't, and you believed me."

"Well, I lied because, yes, it was," I argue. "I convinced you to try the box out when you warned me that keeping food outside never worked in the past. If we hadn't done that, we'd have a ton of elk fat and smoked elk right now."

"Because the box was a great idea, and it did work for a while," Jax says. "We just have to fix what went wrong, make it more secure. But, really, it got broken into because I messed up."

"No, you didn't," I disagree. 

"Yeah, I did. We forgot why we put it on the roof in the first place. It was so we'd hear and be able to stop something like that, but I was all..."

"All what?" I ask.

"Distracted," he says as he lets out a breath. "I loved every second of that week, us being together and having fun, but I forgot to be diligent and careful. I took you to the creek with me all day, leaving it unwatched. I should've known better.  Now we're both paying for that, and the only way I can fix it is by getting us some big game."

"I forgot, too. It's not only on you," I press.

"I know that, but hunting is on me. I won't ask anything of you but this. I need you to promise you'll stay close to camp while the creek is frozen, Sam." The urging tone in his voice is hard to deny, and honestly, I am just as fearful of the wolves as him, but I'm also worried about him.

"Only if you promise me something, too," I say, and a curious look flashes through his eyes.

"What?"

"Promise first," I demand. I hop off his lap and into my chair, giving him a stern look as I cross my legs. 

"How can I when I don't know what it is?"

"You have to trust me," I say with a simple shrug.

"Is this some trick?" he asks cautiously.

"I'm not tricking you," I say with a short laugh. "You're making me promise this to protect me, right?"

"Of course, that's why," he agrees. "I told you I'm going to protect you, and I meant it."

"But someone has to protect you too, Jax, and that is me. Now say you'll promise, or I'm going to go out hunting right now."

"Baby, you're still in your pajamas," he says with a small laugh, but I keep my stern gaze on him.

"Okay, okay," he holds up his hand in surrender. I promise my stubborn but sweet Sam that I will do whatever you ask, as long as it isn't some trick that puts you in danger."

I have to snort back a laugh at the disclaimer. "I told you it wasn't."

I scoot my chair closer. "This is serious though. You are burning so many calories from being out every day sun up to sun down. I promise you I will not go further than the pond. But you have to promise me you'll stop staying out so long. I need you back here before dark, like well before it. Fair?"

"But--"

"No," I cut him off. "I understand you don't want to leave until you get something, but you have to accept that some days are a bust. If you aren't seeing anything, you come home. Running yourself into the ground isn't helping either of us."

"You're right," He finally agrees after a long moment. "I have been staying out a way too long, but shit, I can't fucking spot anything. I think that early blizzard freaked everything out."

"I know you're against a day off, but sometimes a break is a good idea. You might have better luck the next day," I suggest instead of press, but really, he needs a break, and I wish I could make him do it. 

"Maybe today I'll fish the creek. I'll only stay till the afternoon. We can have lunch for once," he offers instead.

"I can fish the pond!" I enthusiastically agree. "If we get enough for a stew that lasts a few days, you'll feel better about coming in earlier."

"Yeah maybe," he says quietly.

I'm relieved that he agreed to my bargain, but I'm not entirely sure that was an actual promise on his part. I have a bad feeling we'll be having this talk again.