The small town was hosting its annual hunting festival.I talked to Seville about going for a picnic in the forest to soak up some sun.He agreed without a moment’s hesitation. A day in advance, he was already bustling about, getting everything ready—a tent, a picnic blanket, my favorite snacks, fresh juice—you name it, he had it.Before we left, I leaned on the table and watched his busy back, and I couldn’t help but recall what Nolan had said.It suddenly occurred to me that, in all the time I’d been with him, I’d never once seen him eat.He always prepared food only for me. When I asked him about it, he’d always say that buying some scraps of meat and bones at the market was enough for him—he ate very little.I couldn’t help but ask him, “Sevier, what exactly do you usually eat?”Sevier’s hand, holding the bread, froze mid-motion.He turned around, walked over to me, knelt down, took my hand, smiled, and said in a light tone:“Why are you asking this all of a sudden? Don’t worry abo
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