“Give him back,” Lena whispered, her anger crystallizing into something sharp and clear.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her most precious thing: a smooth, gray river stone, perfectly flat. It was the last gift from her mother, who had died the previous winter. She held it up.

A low, agonized groan rippled through the gorge. The hum became a screech, then a whimper, then a sigh—not of grief, but of a full stomach forced to eat something bitter.