"Help!" Liora scread over the roar of the crowd, waving her spoon like a flag of surrender. "We’re running out of bowls! And they won’t stop coming!"
Sol didn’t hesitate. He loosened his grip and hurriedly waded into the mass of bodies.
"Back!" Sol roared, his voice amplified by the lingering resonance of vitality. It wasn’t a shout of panic; it was a bark of absolute command, that cut through the clamor like a thunderclap.
The crowd froze. Heads snapped toward him.
The crowd, startled by the sudden projection of authority from the usually quiet "invalid," flinched and stepped back. A small circle of space opened up around the stall.
"Sol!" Lyra gasped, nearly dropping the ladle. She looked at him as if he were a savior sent from the sky.
"Everyone calm down!" Sol ordered, stepping up onto the wooden crate Lira had vacated. He looked over the sea of hungry, desperate faces. "The soup isn’t going anywhere. But if you crush the pots, nobody eats. Do you understand?"
The large man with the scar, Kael, scowled. "I’ve been waiting—"
"And you will get yours," Sol cut him off, staring him dead in the eye with a cold, unblinking intensity that made the man pause. "Line up. Anyone who pushes goes to the back."
Perhaps it was the strange, confident aura radiating off him, or perhaps it was just the promise of food, but the mob obeyed. They shuffled into a jagged line, grumbling but compliant.
Sol took the ladle from Lyra’s shaking hand.
"I got it," he whispered to her. "You handle the trade."
For the next hour, Sol beca a machine. He managed the flow, directing Arelia on which trades to accept (prioritizing salt, cured furs, and sturdy tools over trinkets) and helping Lyra serve.
"That’s a good pelt," Sol nodded at a woman offering a silver-fox skin. "Give her a full bowl and a piece of at."
"Thank you!" the woman cried, cradling the hot clay bowl like it was filled with gold.
The pace was frantic. The sll of the Fire Devil Droppings (not that people knew about it) kept drawing more people in, but eventually, the ladle scraped the bottom of the last cauldron.
"Last bowl!" Sol shouted, scraping the bottom of the cauldron.
He handed the final serving to the old man with the sick husband. "For the elder," he said loudly. "May it bring him strength."
The crowd groaned in disappointnt as Sol turned the pot upside down to show it was empty.
"We are dry!" Sol declared. "But the fire will be lit again tomorrow! Bring your trade then!"
A groan of disappointnt went through the remaining stragglers, but Sol managed to defuse it by promising a double batch the next day. Slowly, reluctantly, the crowd dispersed, leaving the family standing amidst a pile of barter goods that would have taken them months to gather normally.
"We... we did it," Arelia whispered, staring at the mound of cured skins and dried ats. "Sol, look at this. We’re rich."
"We’re surviving," Sol corrected with a tired smile. "Pack it up. Let’s get this inside before sothing happens."
...
Back in the safety of the hut, the atmosphere was filled with relief and adrenaline. They barred the door and began to sort the profits by the light of the fire.
"I’ve never seen people act like that," Lyra said, shaking her head as she wiped soot from her face. "They were like beasts."
"Hunger makes beasts of us all," Sol said quietly.
"We are better than Chiefs," Veyra smirked, counting a stack of furs. "We are rich."
He waited until the excitent settled slightly before playing his next card. He walked over to the corner where the curing furs were piled and pulled out the wrapped bundle he had hidden earlier.
"Speaking of hunger," Sol said casually. "I... uh...found sothing else while I was out."
He unrolled the large leaf, revealing the coiled, pale muscle of the snake carcass. It was massive... easily forty pounds of dense, high-quality at.
The room went silent.
"Ancestors..." Lyra breathed, stepping closer. "Is that... a snake?"
Arelia stepped back, hand to her mouth. "That’s... that’s predator at. High grade. Where did you get this?"
Liora also looked at with innocent curious eyes.
"Found it by the river," Sol lied smoothly, keeping his face open and innocent. "Well," he began, gesturing vaguely to the west. "I went looking for more Fire-Devil berries near the river periter. You know, to keep the soup spicy. And I saw this... thing."
He pointed to the at.
"It was dead. Floating in the shallows. Must have choked on a rock-toad or gotten into a fight with a bigger beast and lost. It was fresh, no rot. So... I dragged it out, skinned it with a sharp stone, and brought it back. Waste not, want not, right?"
He smiled, a harmless, lucky scavenger’s smile.
Veyra stared at him. She looked at the at... clean cuts, precise butchery. Then she looked at Sol.
"A dead snake," Veyra repeated flatly. "You just... found a deadly predator that had conveniently, right in front of you?"
Sol didn’t flinch. He knew Veyra was the sharpest of them.
"The jungle is a dangerous place," Sol shrugged. "Accidents happen."
Veyra stared at him for a long mont. She sensed sothing was off... the strength he had shown in the market, the sudden abundance of food, the way he moved now with a grace that didn’t match his ’waste’ history.
"Veyra, stop," Lyra chided, reaching out to touch the cold, firm at. Her face was glowing with awe. "It must be the Ancestors," Lyra insisted, placing a hand on Sol’s cheek. "They are watching over us. They know we have suffered enough."
"Yes, Aunt," Sol agreed softly. "They are watching."
"A blessing," Veyra muttered, rolling her eyes but not arguing further as she poked the at. "Fine. It’s at. I’m not complaining."
Suddenly, a small weight slamd into his waist.
"Sol!"
It was Liora. The youngest cousin who had pushed past Veyra to hug Sol’s waist. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes shining in the firelight.
"Ouch! What is it?" Sol asked, resting his hand on her head.
Liora looked up, her eyes shining in the firelight. "Sol, you’re amazing! Did you see them? At the market? Usually, they push us away. They call us ’the heavy burden.’ But today... they were begging us. They smiled at ."
She squeezed him tighter. "Everyone didn’t reject us. We have the food. We have the skins. And now... now even this snake at."
She buried her face again. "We aren’t going to starve this winter, are we?"
Sol felt a lump form in his throat. He looked at Lyra, who was weeping silently, and Arelia, who was smiling at the pile of furs, and skeptical Veyra, who was already starting to slice the snake at for curing, which he knew was just her tsundere mask.
He felt the power of the snake soul in his mind. He felt the residual vitality of Evara in his veins. He felt the weight of the poison vial hidden in the roof. He knew that he had lied.
But looking at Liora’s smile, he knew he would do it all again. A thousand tis over.
"No, Liora," Sol whispered, hugging her back, his eyes hardening into flint. "We aren’t going to die. We’re going to live better than any of them."
"Now," he clapped his hands, breaking the emotional mont. "Who knows how to cook snake stew? I heard that it tastes amazing."
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