The village appeared just before dawn, its stone and wood houses clustered along a narrow dirt road. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, the scent of morning bread wafting through the crisp air. Adila's stomach clenched at the smell, a sharp reminder of how long it had been since she had eaten.
Magari walked beside her, hunched against the cold, her hands tucked beneath her cloak. Their feet were caked in mud, their clothes torn from running through the forest. If they walked into the village like this, looking like beggars, they would be turned away before they could ask for anything.
Adila slowed her steps. "We can't go in like this. They'll know something's wrong."
Magari frowned. "So what do we do? Steal?"
Adila hesitated. She had never stolen before. Her father had raised her to be honest, to believe that hard work and patience would provide. But her father was dead, and hard work meant nothing when you were starving.
"We'll have to," she said finally.
Magari's eyes darkened, but she nodded.
They waited until the village stirred to life—when the streets were full enough to hide in plain sight but not so busy that people would take notice of them. Adila kept her head down, eyes scanning the marketplace as she and Magari slipped through the narrow streets.
A baker stood at his stall, unloading loaves of fresh bread from a basket. Adila's stomach twisted painfully.
"Bread," Magari whispered. "We can take some and run."
"No," Adila murmured. "We don't want them chasing us."
She spotted a cart stacked with potatoes, the owner's back turned as he haggled with a customer. A distraction. That's what they needed.
"Follow my lead," Adila muttered.
She strode toward the cart, careful to keep her steps casual. As she passed, she stumbled hard into the side of it, knocking over a wooden bucket with a loud clatter. The cart owner turned, startled, just as Magari darted past and swiped two potatoes from the pile.
"Watch where you're going, girl!" the man barked, shoving the bucket upright again.
"Sorry," Adila muttered, backing away.
She and Magari slipped around the corner before anyone could suspect them.
As soon as they were out of sight, Magari let out a breathless laugh. "That was easy."
Adila exhaled, relief flooding through her. They had food. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them moving.
Then a voice rang out behind them.
"You there!"
Adila's blood ran cold.
She turned slowly. A burly man stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning them. He wasn't the cart owner—he looked like a traveler, someone who had spent time on the roads.
"You're not from here," he said.
Adila swallowed. "We're just passing through."
The man narrowed his eyes. "And yet you look like you haven't eaten in days."
Magari tensed beside her, her fingers twitching toward her hidden knife.
Adila forced a smile. "We're just looking for work. We can't afford much right now."
The man studied them for a long moment. Then, to their surprise, he sighed. "There's a woman near the well who gives bread to travelers. Try her."
Adila hesitated. Was this a trick?
But Magari was already moving. "Let's go."
Adila followed, stealing one last glance at the man. He was still watching them, but he made no move to stop them.
They had survived another day.
But Adila knew they couldn't keep living like this forever.