These strange forest encounters must come to a stop, Ochako thought harshly as she and the young girl made awkward, silent, very prolonged eye contact. The fish that Himiko had gifted Ochako was still hooked over her fingers by the gills, and was still disturbingly cold.

Neither of the girls moved. Ochako barely dared to breathe as the wind shifted and rattled the trees.

I can't just stand here and stare wordlessly at this girl! She looks about ready to die of fright, hunger, or both. Ochako took the moment that she and the girl were having to catalogue all that she could about her sudden guest. The dirty dress that she wore hung off of her in a worrisome manner. Her shoulders were hunched tight against her ears, and her hands were held in tight fists by her face–almost as if she were afraid that Ochako was going to strike her.

Ochako moved slightly to set the fish (which was beginning to make her fingers tingle with chills) on the forest floor, and the girl flinched.

In the softest voice she could manage, Ochako said, "Hey there, little lovebug, you look awfully frightened. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

As Ochako expected (though she had hoped otherwise) her question garnered no response from the little girl. The only sign she gave that she had heard Ochako at all was the fact that she moved slightly farther away with tiny, shuffling steps.

Afraid that the girl would run away, Ochako tried to think quick.

"I'm not going to hurt you, love." Good thinking, moron, That's probably been said to her before.

The girl's rake-thin limbs began to shake as Ochako began to save face. She squatted down where she stood, trying to make herself seem less intimidating, and she felt her fingers brush against the fish's scaly hide.

Suddenly, Ochako's mind flashed with an idea.

The fish

The girl's rake thin

She must be incredibly hungry

"I'll tell you what," Ochako said, still trying to be as quiet as a church mouse. "I'm going to go to the other side of the clearing, make a small fire, and cook up this fish." As she mentioned the fish, she held it up for the girl to see. The little one's red eyes never left it. "You can come over and sit and eat with me, and I might tell you a story, or you can stay over here." Ochako stood slowly and backed away. "I'll be waiting for you when you're ready, little one. I promise."

It took awhile for the young girl to approach Ochako. So long, in fact, that Ochako was halfway finished eating her piece of the fish (now cooked, and spreading its salty seafood aroma throughout the forest clearing) when the other girl creeped up to Ochako's side.

"He doesn't like bugs. He thinks they're dirty."

Ochako jumped a little, not having noticed the other approaching. Her tiny shoulders had relaxed away from her face only marginally, but her hands had lowered and were now bunched around the collar of her dress. Ochako had no idea who he was, but something in her gut told her that he was no good.

"Oh?"

The little girl's big, red eyes were fixed on (what Ochako had left of) the fish. If Ochako focused very hard, she could hear the other girl's stomach grumbling and churning. Her eyes did not leave the fish as she began to respond to Ochako's inquiry.

"He says that I'm no better than a bug, fit to be crushed under his thumb."

The way she said this, like it had been recited to her - possibly shouted at her - over and over again made Ochako's own stomach churn (though in a more sickening fashion than the other girl's).

"Well then," Ochako said, as sweet and as comforting as she possibly could. "How about I call you 'little dove' instead of 'lovebug'?"

The color of her hair was what struck Ochako's inspiration. Dove gray. Ochako just knew that if the little girl's hair was clean and groomed it would feel as soft as - if not softer than - dove's wings.

Where had this tiny, precious girl been all of her life that she looked so beaten down? Ochako's own mother had always, always made sure that she was well fed, clothed, clean (as clean as Ochako - or any other young child - could stay), and loved.

Though she supposed that she was extremely privileged on that front. Not every child could be as fortunate as Ochako was.

From the sounds of it, her little dove had been extremely unfortunate.

Who was he?

"Eri," the little girl said, shuffling closer to Ochako and slowly sitting down. Her voice was so soft that Ochako barely heard it. Even then, Ochako couldn't quite make out what she said.

"What was that?"

The other girl finally managed to tear her eyes away from the fire (and the fish) and look at Ochako.

"Eri. That's my name, or at least that's what I call myself. I saw it in a book once, when I was allowed to have them." Good gods, Ochako thought. When she was allowed to have them? Eri continued to ramble on softly, in the way that all young children did. "I don't think he would like 'little dove' either. He says that all outside creatures carry nasty sicknesses, and that I am dirty too. I would like to be a dove, though, so I could fly away into the clouds."

Ochako let out a stunned cough, surprised at the little girl's - Eri's - words. She seemed to be opening up to Ochako more and more the longer that she sat near her. If nothing else, that was certainly the longest string of words that Eri had spoken to Ochako since they had met.

"Well, Eri, my name's Ochako Uraraka."

Eri scooted closer to Ochako, stretching her tiny legs out so that her feet were being warmed by the fire. Her stomach growled noisily just then, sounding almost thunderous in the silence between them.

Ochako giggled, mostly out of shock that someone so small could make such a loud noise. In her mind, though, another red flag was raised.

Especially at how Eri cowered minisculely in the time between when her stomach had growled and when Ochako had giggled.

Ochako flashed Eri a warm smile, and gestured to the fire in front of the two of them.

"How about some fish?"