46. Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Six

L aura

The sharp tang of blood hits my nostrils before I even see Varro return from his hunt. He rounds the corner of our cottage, dragging something large behind him. My heart leaps into my throat as I realize what it is.

“Is that… a seal?” The words tumble out as a mixture of horror and fascination well up inside me.

Varro grins, proud as a peacock. “Indeed. Felled it up the coast with my spear.”

I’d watched in fascination shortly after we moved to the cottage as he smoothed a straight branch and tied Rick’s diving knife to it. He’s felled rabbits, but nothing this large.

The poor creature’s eyes stare blankly, its sleek body now limp and lifeless. A lump forms in my throat as I kneel beside it, running a hand over its smooth silver-gray fur.

“Oh, you poor thing,” I murmur, blinking back tears.

Varro’s brow furrows. “Laura? What’s wrong? I prayed for it just as I pray for every fish and rabbit I catch. ”

Shaking my head, I try to collect myself. “It’s just… I’ve never seen a dead animal up close like this before. Well, except for fish and rabbits, I guess.”

His expression softens. “Ah, I see. Sometimes I forget how different our worlds are.”

Standing up, I wipe my hands on my pants. “No, it’s okay. I know we need to eat and the blubber will be useful. It’s just… hard to see. I need to toughen up, get used to living off the land.”

Varro nods, understanding in his eyes. “Would you prefer I dress it away from the cottage?”

“No, it’s fine. Actually… can you show me how? If I’m going to be here forever, I should learn.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Of course. I’d be happy to teach you.”

For the next hour, Varro patiently guides me through the process of breaking down the seal. His hands move with practiced ease, showing me how to remove the pelt, which he says will make an excellent window covering when the blue tarp we’re using eventually rots. He shows me how to separate meat from fat, and how to preserve what we can’t eat immediately.

“We’ll pack it in our food bins and bury it in a mound of snow,” he explains. “It’ll keep for quite a while that way.”

As we work, the reality of our situation hits me anew. This is my life now—learning to hunt, to butcher, to survive in ways I never imagined.

“Hey,” Varro says softly, noticing my silence. “You’re doing great.”

A wry smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah? Because I feel like I’m fumbling around like a toddler with a butter knife.”

He chuckles, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Trust me, you’re a natural. You should’ve seen me the first time I slaughtered a deer with my father. I nearly took off my finger. ”

The mental image of a young, clumsy Varro makes me snort with laughter. “Now that I would’ve paid to see.”

As we finish, my stomach growls loudly. The thought of a steak of sizzling fresh meat, so different from our usual diet, makes my mouth water.

“I think someone’s ready for dinner,” Varro teases.

“God, yes. I never thought I’d be so excited about seal meat, but here we are.”

Later, as we sit by the fire eating chunks of seal meat we’ve spitted and cooked in the hearth, tears spring to my eyes. The meat is odd—both gamey and fishy and a little like liver. I would have spat this out if I’d eaten it back home, but it gave its life for us, and we’re going to use every part of it.

“Thank you for…” I wave my arms at the seal, then realize I’m thanking him for more than that. “Thanks for all you do.”

His expression softens, and he reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m glad I could do this for you… provide.”

For months there’s been an odd imbalance of power, with me teaching him English and twenty-first-century tech, yet I’ve stood back and let him do all the caveman stuff without lifting a finger to help.

As we finish eating, I ask. “Hey, Varro? Do you think… could you teach me to use the spear?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You want to learn?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not helpless. I need to be able to fend for myself, right?”

For a moment, he’s quiet, and I worry I’ve offended him somehow. But then a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Laura, nothing would make me happier than to teach you. But I warn you—I’m a tough instructor. ”

Laughing, I feign nonchalance. “Bring it on, gladiator. I can take whatever you dish out.” Secretly, I wonder what this hardened man, this gladiator who survived years in the arena, might have in store for me.

As we clean up from dinner, planning our first training session, I’m struck by how much has changed. Just months ago, I was a modern woman with modern problems. Now, I’m learning to hunt and wield ancient weapons.

But looking at Varro, seeing the warmth in his eyes and the gentle curve of his smile, I realize I wouldn’t have it any other way. This may not be the life I imagined, but it’s ours.