As he navigated the winding dirt paths leading away from the butchering area
As Sol walked, his thoughts drifted to his aunt and cousins. The satisfaction of hitting Vurok began to sour into a heavy lump in his throat.
Even though, in the past, the distribution wasn’t usually this catastrophic. Sure, they were always last, and they always got the worst cuts... tough flank, neck meat, or scraps of fat... but it was usually edible. The previous Sol had been a master of invisibility. He would keep his head down, hunch his shoulders, and swallow every insult Vurok threw at him just to secure a few strips of protein for his cousins.
"It’s because of me," Sol realized, his jaw tightening. "It’s because I punched Vurok this morning."
But as the guilt flickered, a hotter, heavier anger surged to replace it. He finally realized why they hadn’t been at the distribution.
It wasn’t that they didn’t know the hunters were back... the horns were loud enough to wake the dead. The ground had practically shaken with the tribe’s cheers. There was no way they didn’t know.
"They knew," Sol muttered, kicking a stone into the darkness. "They knew the hunters were back, and they chose not to come."
He understood why. It was the shame.
To stand in that line, surrounded by the sneers of the strong, holding out a bowl like a beggar only to receive pity or scorn... it was a soul-crushing ritual. His aunt, a woman who had once held her head high, likely didn’t come knowing that they definitely wouldn’t receive something edible, and it wasn’t just them it was the same for all the people living in the outer edges of the tribe.
So, where were they?
The answer hit him with the force of a physical blow.
Foraging.
They had likely gone foraging in the outer jungle.
While the tribe feasted safely within the walls, his family had likely slipped out the back gates to scour the fringe of the jungle for roots, berries, or perhaps...if the spirits were kind...a small rabit or rodent.
The thought made Sol’s blood run cold, then boil. The "Outer Jungle" wasn’t a garden. It was a death trap. It was the domain of prowlers, poisonous insects, and carnivorous flora. It was a place where grown men with spears walked cautiously, especially for women and children without warrior protection. They were risking their lives for berries and roots because the tribe they belonged to treated them like parasites.
"Damn them," he hissed, kicking up a cloud of dust. "My aunt has to scrape through the dirt while these bastards glut themselves on meat."
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. The injustice was a physical weight on his shoulders.
Just then, a coarse sound snapped him out of his thoughts... the sound of rustling fabric and heavy, panting breath.
He snapped his head toward the noise, irritation flashing in his eyes. In the shadow cast by a mud‑walled hut, where the afternoon sun fell in harsh slants across the packed earth, he saw a couple. It was one of the newly returned hunters, a man Sol recognized instantly just because of one particular reason, because had a face like a flattened yam... with a squashed nose and uneven teeth, and square face.
And this bastard was tearing the clothes off a woman.
Sol’s eyes widened, not because of their action, because it was extremely common, it was because the woman was... extremely stunning. Even in the dim light, her beauty was undeniable. She had the wild, raw allure of the primitive era...skin the color of burnished copper, long, tangled dark hair that flowed down her back, and a body that was ripe and full. Her curves were barely contained by the rough hide she wore, her legs long and powerful.
She seemed to be struggling, pushing at the hunter’s chest, but not hard enough to stop him. It was the struggle of someone who had resigned herself to this.
"Damn," Sol muttered, his face twisting in disgust. "These people are really shameless. Not even caring about the place or time. Just rutting like beasts in the street."
He wanted to look away, but his eyes were glued to the scene. The hunter’s rough hands were mauling her delicate skin, his ugly face trying to bury itself in her neck.
Despite his anger, a jolt of heat shot through Sol’s lower belly. He was a young man, and since waking up in this world, he had continuously been triggered and even though aunt had given him a hand job, what he wanted was to push her down and fuck her mind up.
And now seeing, the sight of her exposed skin, the curve of her breast as the hunter tried to yanked her top down... it ignited a fire in him that conflicted violently with his rage.
"This ugly bastard gets to touch her?" Sol thought, his jaw tightening. "And I’m supposed to just walk by?"
Seeing that he couldn’t remove her clothes, that bastard decided to remove his own clothes first.
Sol’s arousal mixed with his fury until he couldn’t distinguish one from the other. The unfairness of it all... the meat, the power, the women...it all belonged to the strong, while the weak were expected to disappear.
"Enough!" Sol barked out, almost without thinking. The anger boiled over, and he shouted at the hunter, his voice lacing with a strange, vibrating intensity. "Stop! Get the hell out of here!"
He expected the hunter to curse him, maybe even attack him.
But what happened next made Sol freeze.
The hunter stopped instantly. His hands dropped from the woman’s body as if he had been burned. His lust-filled eyes suddenly went blank, then fearful. Without saying a word, he pulled his furs back up, turned around, and walked away into the darkness.
He just... left.
Sol stood there, mouth slightly agape. The beautiful woman was left standing against the wall of the hut, her clothes in disarray, looking completely bewildered. She blinked, looking at the retreating hunter, then at Sol.
Sol gulped, staring at his own hands.
What is this?
Is this... me?
He needed to confirm it. His heart was pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. The arousal was still there, now mixed with a darker, intoxicating curiosity.
He looked at the woman. Her breathing was ragged, her skin flushed.
"You," Sol said, his voice trembling slightly before he steadied it. "Lift your arms up."