CHAPTER 33: PREGNANT WOMEN

I glanced around the gathering, my eyes sweeping over the faces I recognized—Kina, her dark hair catching the firelight as she laughed with the other girls.

Vera, her blonde hair wild and tangled, her bronze skin gleaming as she leaned against a stone, her hide wrap clinging to her curves.

Ada, her white hair braided tightly, her strong arms working as she helped butcher the meat, her body moving with the confidence of a woman who knew her worth.

One by one, I named them.

Kina.

Vera.

Ada.

Ruth.

Hina.

Mitt.

Patt.

Tusk.

Eric.

Noah.

Adam.

Liam.

Each name appeared above their dots, glowing like beacons in the darkness. I even named the kids—the teenagers who sat together, laughing, eating, their faces alight with youthful excitement. I named everyone whose name I remembered. I watched as their dots pulsed on the map, tracking their movements, their locations, their every step.

This changed everything.

Now, I could keep tabs on everyone—know exactly where they were, exactly when the coast was clear. I could slip away unnoticed, disappear into the forest or the mountains, summon food and drinks from the System, and return before anyone even knew I was gone.

I leaned back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, a slow, satisfied smirk spreading across my lips.

The hunt had just gotten easier.

And sooner or later?

I’d have them all.

The moon hung low and full in the sky, its silver light spilling across the tribe like a ghostly veil. I hadn’t realized moonlight could be this bright—this intense—but then again, out here, there were no streetlights, no neon signs, no glow of modern civilization to drown it out.

The darkness was absolute, pure, and the moon burned like a cold flame, casting sharp shadows and turning the world into a monochrome dream. It was enough—more than enough—to see by, to move by, to watch the tribe as they slowly dispersed, their figures melting into the huts like ghosts retreating into the night.

The fire in the center of the clearing still roared, defiant against the darkness. A few of the older men—Patt, Eric, Mitt—tossed fresh logs onto the flames, their muscles ripping beneath their skin as they worked.

The crackle of the wood snapped through the silence, the embers spitting sparks into the air. I realized then—this fire wouldn’t die. Not tonight. Not ever, if I had to guess. It was a beacon, a ward against the dark, against the cold, against the things that lurked beyond the light. It was safety. It was life.

Kerry approached me, her hide skirt rustling softly as she moved. The moonlight caught the curves of her body, the swell of her hips, the shadow of her breasts beneath the loose fabric. Her face was soft in the silver glow, her dark eyes warm but tired.

"Dexter..."

Her voice wrapped around my name like a worn blanket—gentle, motherly—but beneath it, something prickled.

A thread of unease, a remnant of whatever had passed between us earlier, still humming in the air like the last vibration of a plucked string. "Let’s all go back inside... It’s time to sleep."

Mitt fell into step beside me, his broad frame moving with quiet purpose, while Kina trailed just behind, her presence as light as the rustle of reeds in the wind.

Tusk lumbered along, his massive silhouette blocking out the faint glow of the dying fire. Together, we made our way back to the huts, the earth cool and uneven beneath our feet. Kina’s hut stood next to Kerry’s, the two structures leaning into each other like old friends sharing secrets in the dark.

Then Mitt’s voice cut through the quiet, low but carrying the weight of something unsaid. "Dexter... you are amazing." His words caught me off guard, and I turned to look at him, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face.

"You have skills as a hunter—everyone knows that. But it’s more than that. I’ve heard from Kerry, from others... they talk about you being a healer." He paused, his gaze steady. "And don’t belittle yourself just because you think you only know about women’s diseases."

"You know how it is," Mitt continued, his voice rough with something like frustration. "When a woman is pregnant, we have to send someone out, beg another village for help. We trade what little we have just to make sure she survives, that the child survives. But now..." His eyes flickered toward me, "Now, we don’t have to."

A bitter laugh almost escaped me. Women’s diseases. As if the pain of childbirth, the terror of complications, the desperate bargains made with other villages for a healer—trading food, supplies, sometimes even favors—were trivial.

The weight of Mitt’s words settled over me like a cloak, heavy with unspoken expectations. It all made sense now—why the healer was treated with reverence, why the tribe’s eyes lingered on me differently, as if I carried something precious in my hands.

"I’m happy to help Uncle Mitt, Aunt Kerry, and the whole tribe," I replied modestly.

I may not be the kind of healer who can assist with childbirth, but I believe I can still make a difference—especially with the Supermarket Store. I need to earn more pervert points to make it happen.

Kina, who had been walking beside us, suddenly skipped a step ahead, turning to face me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She tilted her head, her braid swinging lightly over her shoulder.

"Brother," she said, her voice playful but laced with something sincere, "you’ve been holding out on us, haven’t you?"

She nudged my arm lightly, her laughter bubbling up like a spring. "First, you’re the hunter. Now, you’re the healer who can keep our women safe? What else are you hiding?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand, her grin widening. "No, no, don’t tell me. Let me guess—maybe you can talk to the spirits too? Or perhaps you’re secretly a storyteller who’s been keeping all the best tales to yourself?"

Her teasing hit something in me, and I felt my cheeks warm. Before I could answer, she sobered slightly, her expression softening. "But really, Dexter... you have to help your sister when the time comes." Her voice dropped to something quieter, almost vulnerable.

"I don’t want to be one of those women who has to beg another village for help. I don’t want to trade our food, our supplies, just so my child can be born safely."