Noatak’s cooking sucked. Tarrlok supposed it would’ve- he didn’t know exactly what his brother had been doing for the past twenty-six years, but he doubted he was at culinary school. On top of that, he only had one good arm- soon to be only one arm total if he caught an infection (which he was likely to: from what Tarrlok could tell his brother’s medical skills were as good as his cooking- both involving the founding principle of ‘don’t burn it’ and not much more).

“Eat up.” Noatak gestured the bowl closer to Tarrlok. Inside was a sickly-looking, greenish liquid more akin to sewage than their mother’s recipe Noatak was trying to replicate. It figured that he would forget her recipes after years of not seeing her.

“I’m not hungry.” Tarrlok gathered his knees closer to himself, like an upset child, and shoved Noatak away.

“You need to eat, Tarrlok, or you won’t get better.” Noatak repeated, mocking sympathy in his voice.

“I don’t want to get better, I want you to leave me alone.” Tarrlok stared at his feet. The patent leather of his loafers was slowly deteriorating from the environment. What a shame, these things were supposed to last.

Noatak paused, letting the chirp of crickets and birds fill his silence. “Tarrlok, it’s been twenty six years-”

“And who’s fault is that, Noatak?” Tarrlok barked, shifting his posture to lean over and look Noatak in the eyes. He could only see so well due to his injury, but it didn’t matter. Noatak didn’t even react, like he knew Tarrlok wasn’t in any place to threaten him. He sat back down. “Twenty six years and you can wait a few more.”

Noatak paused and looked out into the wilderness. He adjusted the makeshift sling that held his injured left arm- when they had woken up on the shore, nearly all his skin had been burnt off. Tarrlok had almost felt sympathetic for him, then. The feeling hadn’t lasted long, though, when he remembered who he was.

“It’s a full moon tonight.” Noatak mused. Tarrlok couldn’t believe it. He was really trying to make small talk- about the stage of the moon, of all things.

“I don’t care.” Tarrlok snapped. “Leave me alone.”

“Tarrlok…” Noatak sighed. He put his good hand to his forehead. “Please, I just want to talk to you. I think if we try, we can make things better.”

“You’re a liar.” Tarrlok returned his gaze to his shoes. He didn’t want to look at Noatak, or the fire he had built to warm the two of them. “You’re a liar and I hate you.”

“I’m sorry.” Noatak said. “What… is there anything I can do to help?”

Tarrlok exhaled. His breath shook from injury. “Just leave me alone, please.”

Noatak hesitated before responding, and the response he gave was worse than silence. “I’m sorry.”