Flesh and Blood

I thought I'd add the next chapter to pique people's interests. Once again I don't own any of the fandom. It's only a jumble of words.

2
The dew clung to Three Finger’s face as he slept against a tree, the chilly morning air rushing through the branches above. A nearby sparrow flittered and chirped three feet away, taking flight as the man nodded awake, accidentally knocking over his axe as he roused. Shuffling to his feet, he saw the fire had gone out hours ago, and his bagged piggy was still where he left it, hanging from a branch at nearly twenty feet. Feeling dizzy from standing, the skinny man wobbled as he strode down the hill, still dragging the weapon.
The search and rescue car was still on, and its swirling lights were now dim in comparison to the dawn. Leaning wearily against the dashboard, he reached into the vehicle and turned the key back, shutting the engine off. His stomach leapt in his chest, but he ignored it, turning back to the demolished house. There was still work to be done, and he could not disappoint Saw Tooth or One Eye.
Patting the plump, scarred face of his brother, Three Finger carefully dragged the limp corpse from under the burnt squad car lying in the wreckage and brought him outside. He did the same with Saw Tooth, rolling him onto a plate of metal and sliding him outside into the sun. Adding a hacksaw to his array of preparation tools, he went about his business as though sorting socks. One Eye went first, reduced to fine, supple pieces which would one day be a guaranteed treat for Three Finger to partake. Wandering off to find some spare jugs and blocks of salt, the man found himself in the car graveyard before he finally found what he was looking for. Gathering the items, he then journeyed to the stream behind the house to fill the jugs one by one.
Once he had finally cut enough salt for the numerous containers, Three Finger once again returned to the graveyard, gathering wood for a new fire. He recalled the times One Eye would retrieve wood and how he would be laughed at and teased for bringing only two or three branches, assuming such would be enough. Giggling loudly, he collected as much as he could in his gangly arms and threw the bundles next to the bodies, turning and skipping away for more. The ritual was now fun as he hauled the containers of salted water back from the stream and got a flint ready for the fire.
Hacking Saw Tooth apart was more of a challenge. His leader had been so old and tough in flesh and Three Finger broke into a sweat merely dividing the limbs and torso. Once the fire was in a tall blaze, he placed the meat on the orange flames, letting the heat lick the bodies clean. Salivating at the smell, he turned to prepare the two piggies in the same fashion.
Wheeling around left him in a daze and he had to stop for a moment. Regaining his consciousness, he continued on his way, but once again, his stomach lurched. This time, ignoring it would not help, and he bent over and let last night’s supper pour out. Lifting his fingers to his lips, he lapped up the vomit which remained on his face, savoring the sweet, sour taste, and he staggered off, resuming his work.
As he sat watching the blaze ignite and cook the cadavers, Three Finger absent-mindedly rubbed his belly, almost trying to will the sickness to go away. But he knew his impulsive prayers would do no good. What ailed him would not go away easily. Yet even though he could not rid himself of the sickness, he could ease it along gently until it passed on its own. And one of the ways he could help was through eating. Food would calm his stomach until the next fit and thus he found himself plucking a scabby, charred hand from the fire. The marked hand of Saw Tooth would doubtlessly help; the flesh of Three Finger’s father would make him stronger.
He needed strength after all if he would bear young successfully.