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"It's not an insult?—"

"I am a gladiator. I am created to be a fiercewarrior."

Why do I feel like smiling at how indignant he is? "And you absolutely are."

"Which means I am notkind."

"You're kind to me."

Corvak's expression softens, and I could swear that he hums a little louder as he watches me. "Yes, but you are mine."

"Just for the record, we haven't established anything of the sort." But now I'm thinking about touching him. This morning was so nice, being able to just reach over and casually grab him, and I loved that he touched me back. I was looking forward to doing more, but with a dozen strangers hovering just outside our tent, sex is honestly the last thing on the menu. "And you're being kind to the people out there, feeding them and all."

"That is for you, too." He leans back, regarding me.

Oh. How sweet. "Well, thank you. I know it's going to be a hardship if we keep sharing our food?—"

Again, he snorts. "Hunting is not a hardship. It is what I am born to do."

Right, right, because he's a big fierce warrior. I fight my smile and hold my hand out. "Of course. How silly of me to doubt you. Pass me a bowl and I'll get started doling out the food."

For the next while, I stand at the fire and distribute food. We brought two of the strangely made little bowls with us for our use, but when I hold one out, it's snatched from my hands, the contents slurped down before I can say anything. The snow-people immediately begin to fight amongst themselves, pulling fur and hooting wildly, and another male attacks the one with the bowl, even as he gobbles the steaming food.

"Calm down," I call out, hating that they're being so loud. "We'll make sure everyone gets fed!"

They ignore me and keep on hooting, another one snatching the bowl and licking it clean.

Corvak gets to his feet and steps out of the tent, and immediately the chaos dies. He scowls at them, crossing hisarms over his chest, and one by one, they drop to a low crouch, in the subservient pose.

I don't know how I feel about that, but at least they're not trying to kill each other over beef jerky soup? I retrieve the bowl, fill it again, and offer it to a mother with a child. She sniffs the soup, offers it to her baby, and then gives me a hungry, pitiful look while the baby eats. I turn to Corvak. "You stand out here and keep the peace. I'm going to see if we have something else for them to eat."

He doesn't get mad, which makes my heart warm. Most guys would probably lose their shit, insisting that we save our supplies for ourselves. Not Corvak. He's confident enough in himself to share, all because I want to, and it makes me appreciate him even more. I snag coal-roasted roots from the fire, holding them with a bit of fur to act as an oven mitt, and when I bring them out, the female gets excited. I offer her a root, and she takes it, devouring it despite the fact that it's probably burning her hands.

That's how it goes for the next while—I scoop a bowl of food and supervise as someone eats, and if they refuse the soup, I offer a root. By the time we get everyone fed, it's late, the bowl has been gnawed on and licked by half the tribe, and all of our roots are gone. There's nothing but scraps left for myself and Corvak, but we've eaten as we traveled so I don't mind not having much for dinner. I wash my hands and scrape the last of the soup out of the cooking pouch into the clean bowl I kept back for Corvak. "Did you notice the women didn't eat the soup? Just the vegetables."

Corvak shrugs. "Perhaps they save the meat for the hunters."

"Maybe." It makes me wonder how we're going to feed everyone tomorrow though. "I'm sorry we went through so much food." The jerky pouch is emptied out, the last bits and flakes shaken into the stew an hour ago.

"We will get more tomorrow." He shrugs and takes a bite of the leftovers and then offers a bite to me. "Are they still out there?"

I peek out from the tent flap, not entirely surprised to see that our crowd is indeed still there. They curl up together in the snow, piling on to share warmth, and as I watch, one grooms a knot out of another's fur. "Still out there."

"At least they are obedient."

"When you're around," I tease. "They like you more than me."

"They know you are the soft one and I am the warrior."

Why does that make me blush? It should be an insult, but…it doesn't sound like one. He makes it sound like a caress. I still need to tell him that I don't belong to him, but it's lower on the priority scale right now. My feet hurt and I'm exhausted, and all I want to do is wash my hands a dozen times (I will never get used to the smell of the snow-people) and go to sleep.

Corvak continues to hold the bowl out to me, waiting for me to eat, but I wave it away. "Not hungry. I just want to clean up."

I spend the next while scrubbing my hands with snow and then rinsing them with melted water. I wipe them with the "cleanest" fur we have, and wish we had soap. I'm trying not to think about all the germs we could be ingesting, but priorities are priorities. Now that my hands are clean, I can relax. I sit down in the spread furs near the fire, wincing when my feet give an unpleasant throb. "I'd give my left tit for a good pair of hiking boots."

He looks over at me, frowning. "Are your feet bothering you?"

"A little. I'm not trying to complain," I say, feeling defensive. "Just grousing a bit. I think I'd be able to keep up more if I had better shoes than just some furs wrapped around my feet."