Two seconds later, Venom spat out the meat.
"The creatures on this planet are truly unpalatable."
"No, I don't think it's the species' fault."
Just as the pair, one big and one small, glared at each other, about to start their usual bickering, two hazy, translucent figures quietly materialized in the shadows of the cabin corner, as if rippling water.
They were precisely Wednesday Addams and Enid Black, who had projected their consciousnesses here using the power of the dark codex.
Unable to interfere with reality, like ghosts, they could only watch quietly.
"It seems we've arrived at just the right time," Wednesday commented calmly, crossing her arms. Her deep, pool-like eyes swept over the charred food. "This cooking method is a double murder of the ingredients and the digestive system."
Enid looked at that small, shivering, yet fiercely posturing Victor. Her heart felt pricked by needles, aching with a fine, dense pain. She instinctively wanted to step forward and hug him, but could only pass through his cold body in vain.
"He's so small... All alone here, he must be so scared..." Enid's voice was choked with sobs.
Wednesday's gaze fell on Victor's large green eyes, made especially prominent by malnutrition. After a moment of silence, she spoke:
"Fear won't kill him, but Venom's 'protein' might."
In the days that followed, Wednesday and Enid's projections silently accompanied the Little Victor of this time and space.
When Venom enthusiastically caught another Squirrel, preparing to repeat his mistake, Wednesday's cool voice sounded beside Little Victor's ear, though he couldn't hear it:
"Aim for the neck, a single lethal strike. After skinning, remove the entrails, wash with clean snow water. Find some pine branches, smoke and roast over a slow fire, not directly toss into the flames."
Little Victor was grimacing at the Squirrel Venom had caught. Strangely, a peculiar flash of inspiration suddenly crossed his agitated mind.
He snatched the Squirrel and, imitating a vague shadow from his memory, clumsily yet with unusual precision, began to process it. This time, the roasted meat, though still rudimentary, was at least edible.
Venom circled the roasted Squirrel in surprise: "Hey! Kid, when did you secretly learn this trick?"
Victor himself was somewhat bewildered, muttering: "None of your business! It's still better than your universal poison cuisine!"
Nights were the hardest to endure.
Victor often woke from nightmares, his thin clothes soaked in cold sweat. The chill of the lab, the fear of escape, the abandonment by his parents... haunted him like nightmares.
Whenever he curled up, trembling silently, Enid would kneel beside him. Though unable to touch, she would gently hum an ancient lullaby passed down among the werewolf clan to soothe their young, her azure eyes gazing at him tenderly.
"It's alright, Victor, it's alright... You're safe, you're brave..." she whispered over and over.
Miraculously, those nightmares seemed to gradually fade away. Little Victor's tightly furrowed brow would slowly relax, and his breathing would become steady.
Occasionally, during moments of wakefulness from extreme cold or hunger, Little Victor would hug his knees and talk to the air, his tone carrying a sharpness and sarcasm unbecoming of his age:
"This damn weather, trying to freeze me into an ice pop?"
"Those bastards in white coats, better not let me run into them again!"
Wednesday would stand expressionlessly before him, "responding" in her own unique way: "Cursing is inefficient. Surviving and becoming stronger is the best revenge."
Enid would softly add from the other side: "You will grow up, Victor. You'll meet many friends, you won't be alone anymore."
One day, Victor fell from a tree while trying to steal bird eggs, cutting a large gash on his knee that bled profusely.
He didn't cry. Pain of this level was practically a massage to him, already accustomed to suffering.
Little Victor just glared fiercely at the wound.
"What are you looking at! Keep staring and I'll dig you out!" he threatened the wound.
"Venom, help stop the bleeding!"
Wednesday raised an eyebrow: "Threatening one's own tissue is an early symptom of schizophrenia."
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