Hunger

Roasted lamb rubbed with crushed rosemary and garlic, the hot fat dripping. Potatoes, steamed until falling apart tender, smothered in butter and then lightly salted. Sharp cheddar cheese with sour gherkin pickles for a cool bite. Red wine, heavy and fruity. Fluffy cake soaked in brandy and dusted with cocoa powder.

Abigail awoke, feeling saliva running down her chin. She wiped it aside, shoving off the rags she'd piled on herself for warmth in the night. There wasn't much more warmth to be had now, as she looked out the cracked window to the gray twilight that was noon now. She got to her feet. She walked to the nearest open doorway.

With one foot, she shoved out the ash that had spilled in while she slept. She looked out at the street, silent and empty and gray. No birds or squirrels had been caught in any of her snares, she could tell from a glance, just as it had been for the past several days. She licked her lips, trying to think of any stores she hadn't gotten to yet.

Fatty duck breast, grilled to a light brown crisp. Wild rice pilaf with chipped nuts and raisins. Fresh asparagus, sauteed in butter and seasoned with balsamic vinegar. Thin slices of roast beef brisket, rare enough to bleed. Rich tomato sauce in globs on any stupid thing.

Abigail pushed aside the thoughts of what and scoured her maps for any indication of where she might be able to forage next. She pursed her dry and cracking lips, trying not to let out any more water than she could spare. As she turned from one page to another, she spied a small shadow in the corner of the room. A little mushroom was growing there.

Small as it was, she still used both hands to push it into her mouth.

It tasted like weak tea.

It felt like a feast.