Eira doesn't share my restraint. She breaks free from my reaching hands and rushes toward him with the fearless enthusiasm of a child who's never learned to doubt her welcome. "Nelrish! You're okay."
He catches her easily, sweeping her up into his arms with the kind of gentle strength that makes my chest tight with emotions I'm not ready to examine. She reaches immediately for his head, her small hands seeking contact with the temple area where her magic allows her to read memories and experiences.
But Nelrish catches her wrist with careful firmness, his voice carrying gentle but absolute authority. "There are some things you shouldn't see, sweetheart."
Eira nods with the solemn understanding of a child who's already witnessed more darkness than her years should allow. Her magical gifts make her more aware than most of the weight that violence leaves on a person's soul—she knows without being told that tonight has brought Nelrish into contact with things that would give her nightmares.
"But you're okay?" she asks, her voice small but steady.
"I'm okay," he confirms, then adds with the kind of gentle consideration that makes my heart do complicated things, "You can use your magic to check. Just... touch my chest instead."
She presses her palm against his heart, her eyes closing in concentration as her abilities confirm what his words promise. By the time he starts walking toward me with Eira still secure in his arms, she's nodding with visible relief.
"He is okay, Mama. Tired and a little sad, but okay."
The simple confirmation breaks something loose in my chest, some terrible tension that's been building since the moment he walked away into darkness and uncertainty. He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can see the faint lines ofexhaustion around his eyes, the subtle signs of strain that only someone learning to read his expressions would notice.
I don't care who's watching. Don't care that Korrash and the other warriors are probably observing every nuance of this reunion, filing away details about their chieftain's unprecedented attachment to a human woman. The relief is too overwhelming for dignity or careful calculation of appearances.
I launch myself at him, my arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls me close with his free arm. The familiar scent of him—pine and leather and something essentially masculine—fills my lungs and anchors me to the reality of his survival. His lips press against the top of my head in a kiss that feels like both greeting and benediction.
"I'm safe," he murmurs against my hair, his voice carrying the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes after violence successfully concluded. "The Redmoon are gone. No more fighting. No more worrying if they'll come for you."
The words sink into my consciousness like water into parched earth. Gone. Really gone, not just temporarily driven off or strategically relocated. The threat that's shadowed every moment since we fled the bunker—the constant awareness that discovery meant death or worse—has been permanently eliminated.
I nod against his chest, feeling something fundamental shift in my understanding of the world around me. Free. For the first time since leaving the underground shelter of my birth, I'm genuinely free. Not just temporarily safe or conditionally protected, but actually liberated from the immediate threat of recapture.
The realization makes me dizzy with possibilities I'd trained myself not to imagine. A life where Eira can play without constant vigilance. Sleep that doesn't require one ear alwayslistening for approaching danger. The luxury of making plans that extend beyond immediate survival.
I tip my head back to look at him, studying the face that's become so familiar in such a short time. The strong jaw, the storm-colored eyes that can shift from cold authority to gentle warmth without warning, the way silver threads through his dark hair like premature frost. He's beautiful in the way mountains are beautiful—imposing and dangerous but possessed of a grandeur that demands recognition.
"Will you come with me?" he asks, his voice carrying careful neutrality that doesn't quite mask the tension underneath. "To Wintermaw territory. To my clan."
The question I never answered. The choice I've been avoiding since the moment he first suggested it, paralyzed by the magnitude of what acceptance would mean. Leaving behind the last vestiges of human society, placing my daughter's future in the hands of creatures I was raised to fear, building a life among people whose culture remains largely mysterious despite his patient explanations.
But looking at him now—exhausted but victorious, holding my daughter with tender protectiveness while his eyes search my face for the answer that will determine all our futures—the choice doesn't feel complicated anymore.
This time, I don't hesitate.
"Yes."
20
NELRISH
The weight of Eira's sleeping form against my shoulder anchors me to the present moment, her small body warm and trusting as she surrenders to exhaustion. Her breathing creates a soft rhythm that matches our steady pace through the familiar terrain leading home, dusted in snow. One tiny fist clutches the front of my leather vest while the other dangles loose, fingers occasionally twitching in whatever dreams occupy her rest.
Two days of walking have passed like a meditation, each step carrying us further from the violence that ended the Redmoon threat and closer to the life I've been constructing in my mind since that first night when Mara's hands pulled me back from death's threshold. The forest path winds through stands of pine and birch that grow more familiar with each mile, their bark scarred with the territorial markings my people use to define our boundaries.
Mara hasn't strayed more than arm's length from my side since we began this journey. Her proximity sends constant awareness through my nervous system—the rustle of her coat when she adjusts her pack, the soft sound of her breathing inthe cold air, the way she occasionally reaches out to steady herself against my free arm when the path grows treacherous. She watches everything with the sharp attention of someone cataloguing details for future reference, filing away information about clan territory and customs with the methodical thoroughness that's kept her alive this long.
Korrash maintains his position at the head of our small column, his scarred features revealing nothing of whatever thoughts occupy his mind regarding my unusual traveling companions. His eyes find mine periodically—quick glances that carry questions he's too disciplined to voice in front of strangers. I appreciate his restraint. The full story of how I came to claim a human woman and her half-orc daughter as mine requires time and privacy to tell properly.
The other warriors spread out in loose formation around us, alert but relaxed in the way that comes from traveling through territory they know intimately. Their acceptance of Mara and Eira's presence speaks to their trust in my judgment, though I catch occasional sideways looks that betray curiosity about what changes this unprecedented addition to our clan might bring.
The scent reaches me first—woodsmoke and cured leather, the metallic tang of worked iron, the green smell of moss growing on stone foundations. Home. Wintermaw territory spreads before us as we crest the final ridge, longhouses clustered around the central hearth like sleeping giants arranged for mutual protection. Smoke rises from multiple chimneys in gray ribbons that dissipate against the pale afternoon sky.
Eira stirs against my shoulder as we begin our descent, her small body responding to some instinctive awareness that our journey has reached its conclusion. Her eyes flutter open, gold-tinged hazel scanning the unfamiliar landscape with the bright curiosity that defines her approach to new experiences.
