Greg and Noah goes hunting

The morning was cold and damp, the mist clinging to the treetops like a stubborn veil. Noah followed Greg through the underbrush, his boots crunching softly against the fallen leaves. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of branches or distant chirp of a bird. Noah tightened his grip on the knife at his side, feeling the reassuring weight of its handle. He didn’t like being out here, especially with Greg, but food was getting harder to find, and this Greg had offered to teach him to hunt.

Greg moved with the ease of someone who belonged in the wild, his strides confident and deliberate. Slung across his shoulder was a pouch filled with handmade traps: snares fashioned from wire, and crude wooden triggers carved with a hunting knife.

“This spot’ll do,” Greg said, stopping by a patch of soft earth beneath a cluster of trees. He knelt, pulling one of the traps from his bag. “Rabbits, squirrels, maybe even a fox if we’re lucky.”

Noah stood a few feet back, watching as Greg demonstrated how to set the snare. His hands were rough but skilled, moving with precision as he tied the wire around a branch and buried the trigger beneath a layer of leaves.

“Trick is patience,” Greg said, his voice low. “Set enough traps, check ‘em often, and you’ll always have something to eat. Beats going hungry or risking your life chasing bigger game.” He glanced up at Noah, a faint smirk on his face. “You ever hunt before?”

Noah shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not like this.”

Greg nodded, finishing the trap and dusting his hands off on his jeans. “Figured. You’ve got the look of someone who’s used to fixing things, not catching ‘em.” He stood and gestured for Noah to follow. “Come on, we’ll set a few more.”

They moved deeper into the woods, setting traps every fifty yards or so. As they worked, Greg grew more talkative, his gruff demeanor softening. He began sharing stories of his life before the outbreak: long weekends spent hunting with his buddies, teaching his wife how to shoot a bow, the cabin he owned on the edge of the lake.

“She hated the woods at first,” Greg said, chuckling softly as he tied another snare. “City girl, through and through. Took her a year just to stop complaining about the bugs. But she stuck it out. Said she’d rather be miserable with me than comfortable without me.”

Noah stayed silent, focusing on the trap he was helping to bury.

Greg sighed, his tone shifting, growing wistful. “She’s gone now, of course. Came home after a week in the forest, and the town was… well, you’ve seen what’s left of the world. Never even found her body. Just gone.” He paused, his eyes darkening. “And now here I am, tagging along with you and Olivia. She’s... kind. Reminds me of my wife in some ways.”

Noah’s hands froze on the wire he was twisting. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his expression hardening as he resumed his work.

“You’re a lucky man,” Greg continued, oblivious to the tension building between them. “A woman like that? She’s a rare find in times like these. Someone who still cares, even after everything.”

Noah stood abruptly, brushing dirt off his hands. “We’re burning daylight,” he said curtly. “Let’s finish this up and head back.”

Greg glanced at him, his brows furrowing slightly, but he didn’t push. “Yeah. Sure.”

As they walked back to the traps they’d set earlier, the silence between them was heavy. Noah’s mind churned with anger and unease, but he **** himself to keep it in check. Greg was irritating, sure, but he was also proving useful. The traps, the hunting skills, even his scavenging experience—all of it would help keep Olivia safe, and that was what mattered most.

By the time they returned to the first trap, they’d already caught a rabbit, its small body limp in the wire snare. Greg knelt to retrieve it, holding it up with a small, satisfied smile. “See? Told you it’d pay off.”

Noah nodded stiffly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Let’s get back,” he said, turning toward the direction of their camp.

As they made their way through the forest, Greg whistled softly under his breath, seemingly oblivious to Noah’s simmering frustration. Noah didn’t say a word, but his thoughts were clear: Greg might be useful, but that didn’t mean he had to like him.

[Camp Morale -20, Food +5]