"No, no—you don’t have to tell ! Really! I just—I an, you asked about mine, so I thought—" he stamred, his words tangled in a knot of nerves.
Kaya stared at him... and then burst out laughing.
"Why are you acting like you just asked about my organs?" she said between laughs. "Calm down. It’s just a na."
Relieved but still sheepish, Bunny let out a small laugh of his own. Kaya leaned back on her hands, gazing at the fire before speaking again, this ti more thoughtfully.
"So, where do I start... right. I was originally nad sothing else. Caroline."
She said the na like it left a bitter taste.
"It was given by my parents, who—let’s just say—weren’t exactly fans of . And as I grew up and started working, that na started to grate on . There were just too many Carolines around. It was like being stuck in a copy-paste file."
Bunny nodded quietly, listening.
"Then one day, my captain—tough woman, but heart of gold—suggested a na. Said it ca from her grandmother’s culture. She was from the Asia region. You might not know much about it, but..." Kaya paused, then smiled faintly. "The na she gave was ’Kaya.’ It ans ’shadow.’ And honestly? It fits. For my work, my world... and ."
She shrugged like it was no big deal. "So, I took it. Figured... why not? It’s just a na, right?"
Bunny looked at her, a quiet respect in his gaze. "Still... it suits you."
Kaya looked back at him, a soft smile tugging at her lips again. "Yeah. I think so too."
As the food was finally ready, Kaya unwrapped the leaf where she had tucked the fish to help it cook faster. She didn’t particularly enjoy roasted fish anymore. Her job had forced her to eat it too many tis, and now, even the sll felt tiring. Not forever—just tonight. She was exhausted, and her body craved comfort.
She took a bite and instantly regretted expecting anything better. Bland. Just a faint fishy taste lingered, nothing more. She hadn’t added salt—didn’t have any—and she wasn’t about to experint with wild herbs that might leave her curled up with food poisoning. So she chewed, quietly, with a resigned look. Thankfully, a few fruits on the side helped balance the dullness.
Once they were done, both settled in for the night. Kaya lay down on one side of the cave, using her blazer as a makeshift blanket. Bunny—still "Cutie" to most—rested on the other side, leaning back and getting ready to drift off.
Kaya looked up at the uneven ceiling of the cave, then gently pulled the blazer tighter around her. Her voice was soft, almost like a lullaby caught in the wind.
"Good night, Bunny."
Bunny, who was just about to fall asleep, froze. For a few seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe too loud. No one had called him that—not since his father. Not once. And just like that, sothing clicked.
He liked the way it sounded. Bunny. Not "Cutie," not anything else. Just... Bunny.
A slow smile crept across his lips in the dark. His voice was quiet, almost shy, but warm.
"Good night," he whispered back.
He didn’t fully know what the word ant. Not yet. But if it ca from her, he figured it had to be sothing good.
[She wished good night in English.]
That night, Kaya slept soundly—peacefully, even. But she couldn’t say the sa for the person who’d been following her. If anything, their night probably wasn’t nearly as kind.
By the ti the first light of morning spilled into the cave, Kaya stirred, stretching her arms above her head with a soft groan. Her muscles ached in that oddly satisfying way—proof of a hard day survived. She sat up slowly, her eyes scanning the space.
Cutie—or rather, Bunny—was already up. His leaf blanket had been neatly folded beside him. Kaya squinted at it. How the hell did he even find a leaf that big? Whatever. He was gone, probably off fetching water or doing whatever morning routine he’d sohow developed in the wild. It was weird how reliable he was turning out to be.
Food-gathering? That was definitely Bunny’s job. Wild fruits and anything that didn’t look like it might try to poison them. Not that she trusted his judgnt completely, but at least he was trying.
As Kaya stood and shook the stiffness from her limbs, her eyes drifted to the corner of the cave—and she grinned.
"Good morning, little sparrow," she said with a teasing tone.
The sparrow, still tied gently at the back with so old cloth scraps, looked completely done with life. Its feathers puffed up in protest, eyes squinting like it hadn’t slept at all.
Kaya crouched beside it, still smiling.
"Don’t give that look. You brought this on yourself," she said, poking the bundle of feathers lightly. "You wouldn’t shut up last night. ’Creep, creep, creep’—all damn night. I had half a mind to roast you."
The sparrow blinked slowly, looking more like a hostage than a bird. Kaya laughed softly to herself and stood up, stretching again.
"Count your blessings, birdie. I just tied you up instead."
And with that, she stepped outside to look for Bunny, the morning already carrying a strange sort of peace.
As Kaya stepped outside, the cool morning air greeted her. She walked a few steps from the cave, the ground soft beneath her worn boots. Then she saw it—and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face.
Last night’s trick had worked.
She hadn’t needed any fancy traps or tools. In this world, if soone was clever—or dangerous enough to be stalking her—they wouldn’t fall for basic snares or clumsy setups. But Kaya had relied on sothing different. Sothing subtle. Sothing your mother might warn you never to do.
She did it anyway.
While preparing dinner last night, she’d quietly scattered sharp fish bones and thorns around the edges of her campsite—especially near the narrow paths soone might use to spy on her. She’d collected the thorns while walking through the woods earlier.
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