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The giant, the one who had been so still that it may have been mistaken for a part of the mountain it sits against, lashes out suddenly. A hand that must be six feet wide strikes out into the dark woods, and tears back with a screaming animal caught in its grip. The stag bellows, it thrashes its wild head where it juts through the gap between the giant’s thumb and forefinger. Then, with a merciful, terrible snap - one ineffable, humongous motion, the deer’s wild head falls into the shadow of the giant's closed hand, its terrified baying silenced forever. Dead before it knew what had grabbed it.
Arlo cannot tear his eyes away from the deer’s dead face, the eyes that had rolled with so much terror, its red mouth hanging open. It would barely take anything for the giant to do the same thing to him.
“Arlo?” A soft voice whispers, so high above it might be a night breeze. Arlo swivels to meet the giant’s eyes, his tearful eyes, spilling what must be gallons of water down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry, God, I tried to make it quick. Please don't be scared-.”
Shame crashes down on Arlo, buzzing down his limbs in restless energy until he is balancing himself on the trunk of the tree he'd stashed himself in, standing up to be just a bit closer to his friend. “Don't be sorry Kalind, don't be sorry,” Arlo raises his voice for his friend to hear, hating the pained, guilty expression twisting his face. “We’ve gotta do it. I asked you to do it. And- and we eat meat from stores, this is not really… much worse?”
Kalind’s wide tearful eyes fall from Arlo, back onto the deer, dead in his open hand, its wild head thrown back like a TV cadaver.
“I guess,” His voice rumbles through the dark canopy. “I guess.”
“C’mon,” Arlo calls up to his friend, dropping down from the low branches of the tree and onto the forest floor. “We gotta butcher this if we're gonna be able to cook it up tomorrow.”
“Sure.” Kalind says, but doesn't move an inch until Arlo has made his way across the dark forest, into the little sphere of light provided by their campfire. Then, he moves, like a piece of the mountain coming away, and shuffles to lay on his front in massive, careful motions, bringing his gentle, expressive face into the firelight. He still holds the body of the deer in his other hand, shuffled off into the darkness, as if Argo may forget about it.
“Well, bring it into the light. Let's see it.” Argo tries, wanting to shake that faraway expression off of Kalind’s face.
“I don't… really know how to do this.” Kalind whispers, bringing the hand holding the deer ever so slowly closer, into the yellow-orange light of the fire. “Have you ever butchered something before?”
“No… but my grandma explained it to me a few times. Take the guts out first, and don't puncture them or we'll get sick.” Argo says, hesitantly picking his way closer to Kalind’s massive hand and the carcass cradled within it like a broken toy.
“Oh God, that's disgusting!” Kalind groans, moving the deer back into the dark with a sonorous shifting of flesh and fabric. “Do we have like… a sharp rock anywhere?”
After having Kalind chip a large boulder into several sharp, flat blades, the shifter manages to gut and skin the deer under Arlo’s nervous instruction. He cuts the meat from the bones in wobbly strips and spears the bloody venison on a sharp stick to drain in the high branches of a tree, where the pelt already hangs like a grim flag. A flag that will keep Arlo warm, stop him from needing to sleep in a tree, or even more dangerously, seek heat from Kalind. The shifter sighs and gazes out over the green-black treetops, eyes tracing a wide-winged bird dipping up and down in the purple sky.
He tries, for the one-millionth time, to shrink back down. He lets his helplessness bubble up, whispers in his head pleasepleaseplease I need to get out of here, and for the one-million-and-first time, nothing happens. He remains sitting with his dangerous, unruly body slumped beneath him, his head poking out from over the trees. Arlo is still only the length of his hand, sleeping in the tiny sphere of firelight. Until he can wrangle his disobedient body back into the right size, he will need to keep killing. It's that or kill himself and his own best friend through inaction. What a choice the world has thrown at him.
When he looks at the creature in his hand again, all the meat is gone. The carcass is a skeleton, white flashes showing through red, clinging. It is almost weightless in his hand, the meat and pelt hanging near his head, blood seeping into the forest dirt.
The bones look almost beautiful in the rising moonlight, underlit by fire. There is still meat, really, if one is willing to be tenacious. The bones are more than thin enough to crack between his teeth, if he tried.
He could eat the whole skeleton in one bite.
His stomach pangs with traitorous hunger, Kalind groans in revolt, throwing the skeleton out into the dark woods. Let the scavengers have it. It is not for him. The body thuds somewhere, with a clattering of wet bones, alive only an hour ago. In the firelight, Arlo moves in his sleep, shuffling under the scrap of Kalind’s sweater he's using as a blanket. The shifter glances up at the tree, the dark strips of venison dripping blood. It will be enough for Arlo, but Kalind?
What will he have to do?