[ He hears him offer the food to her, or maybe he's offering it to someone else — she doesn't know because she doesn't look up from the fire. Her eyes are still red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and there are patches of her face which are slowly but steadily healing, the more superficial injuries beginning to close now that her leg is on the mend. He is maybe the last person she wants to talk to right now, but he catches her at a moment where she's too exhausted to immediately bite his head off or preemptively tell him to fuck off before he says something he'll regret, so she just shakes her head, pulling her beanie down to hide her eyes from him. More than anything, he's the one she doesn't want to look upset in front of. ]
I don't want your food, and I'm not hungry.
[ Which is muttered darkly. There's a lisp to her words that wasn't there before; looking closer, she's still missing a tooth or two, as well. ]
c...
I don't want your food, and I'm not hungry.
[ Which is muttered darkly. There's a lisp to her words that wasn't there before; looking closer, she's still missing a tooth or two, as well. ]