She did not take it.
Silas waited.
Clara finally reached down.
The hide was heavy and warm from being packed against the horse.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Nothing else.
He remounted.
They continued.
By the time the cabin appeared, the sky had gone almost black.
It stood beneath a granite cliff surrounded by pines, larger and sturdier than Clara expected.
Heavy logs.
Stone chimney.
A low stable.
Wood stacked beneath an overhang.
Thick shutters.
The kind of place built not for comfort but survival.
Silas dismounted.
He helped Clara down only after she nodded.
Again she noticed.
Again she hated noticing.
Inside, the cabin was cold but orderly.
One main room.
A stone hearth.
Iron stove.
A wide bed beneath the far wall.
A table.
Two chairs.
Shelves.
Animal hides.
Several books.
A washstand.
A loft.
Silas lit the hearth quickly.
Then the stove.
Clara stood near the door still wrapped in buffalo hide.
She watched him as though every movement contained a hidden condition.
He filled a pot.
Added dried onions.
Potatoes.
Carrots.
Salt meat.
Water.
The smell began filling the room.
Clara’s stomach cramped so sharply she pressed one hand against it.
Silas looked over.
“Sit.”
She remained standing.
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
His bluntness made her angry.
“What do you know about it?”
“You’re hungry.”
Clara’s face heated.
Silas turned back toward the pot.
“No shame in hunger.”
She sat because her knees were weak.
He served stew in a deep bowl.
Set it in front of her.
The portion was enormous.
Clara stared.
Then at him.
“Is this all?”
Silas frowned.
“All what?”
“You expect me to eat.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
He looked genuinely confused.
“Sleep.”
Her fingers tightened around spoon.
“Where?”
Silas pointed at the bed.
Clara went cold.
He saw.
Then pointed at a rolled bedroll near the hearth.
“I sleep there.”
She blinked.
“You have one bed.”
“Yes.”
“This is your cabin.”
“Yes.”
“Why would you sleep on floor?”
Silas looked at her for a long moment.
Then said:
“Eat before it gets cold.”
That was not an answer.
But he moved away.
He took his own bowl and sat on the opposite side of the room.
Clara began eating.
She tried to go slowly.
After three bites, hunger won.
She ate too fast.
Silas said nothing.
When her bowl was empty, she was ashamed.
Then he stood, took the pot, and refilled it without asking.
Clara looked at him.
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do.”
His voice was not unkind.
Only certain.
She ate half the second bowl.
Could not finish.
Silas covered the remaining stew for morning.
Then he banked the stove.