“If it’s so dangerous, what are you doing here?” The Meow doesn’t seem much older than her. “Don’t your parents care?”

His face goes blank at the question before smoothing over.

“I’m older than I look” is all he says. Croi wonders how old the Meow is. He looks about twenty winters, but fae stop aging after they’re twenty, so for all she knows, he could be a hundred. Maybe two hundred. Maybe he’s a grandpa. Croi chuckles to herself, but her mirth disappears when her stomach growls piteously. Her cheeks burn with unexpected embarrassment.

The catkin’s face gentles, and he says, “Sit down. Let’s have a bite to eat.”

Croi’s sitting before he has finished speaking. She doesn’t know where her next meal is coming from, so she may as well think with her stomach. When she looks at the Meow again, a laugh is peeking out from his eyes, but his expression remains cautious. He still thinks she’s dangerous. Croi wishes she was.

He rummages in his pack and pulls out a pot, several small packages, and a flask. He pours the water that’s in the flask into the pot that he sets atop the little fire. The flames spark their displeasure, and Croi grins. As the water heats, he adds many unfamiliar spices and greens before adding what looks like dried fish. Soon a delicious smell wafts over. Croi’s stomach growls its impatience, and the boy chuckles. He stirs the concoction before closing the pot with a lid.

“We’ll let it cook for a while,” he says, and throws something at Croi. She catches it and finds a bright red apple gleaming in her hands. She looks at it suspiciously.

“It’s fine. Eat it.”

Croi tries to resist the allure of the apple. For all of two seconds. She decides to eat it, but then she realizes that she will have to take off her veil to do so.

“Look, I’m going to take off my veil now. I’m really ugly, so you should prepare yourself,” she warns him. The Meow raises an eyebrow and gestures for her to go ahead.

Her hand trembles, but Croi pushes away all emotions. Being beautiful isn’t everything. Ugly people have a place in the world too. She takes off the veil and very carefully doesn’t look at the Meow.

“If you don’t want to eat, return the apple to me,” the Meow says, and Croi starts. She takes a big bite of the apple and almost weeps. It’s that sweet.

“Do you have nothing to say to me?” She glances at him from the corner of her eye. He’s not even looking at her.

“About what?” he asks.

“About my…” Croi gestures to her face.

“Your face is your business. I don’t think it my place to comment on it,” he replies.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” she asks between bites.

“You sound as if I’m the first person to ever show you kindness,” the boy says, checking on the cooking stew. Croi deflates when he announces it not yet done.