"There's something here!" she calls, her voice vibrating with excitement as she lifts a bundle that's clearly been shaped by careful hands. "And another one!"
She carries her treasures to where Nelrish and I sit beside the hearth, her movements careful but quick. The first packageunwraps to reveal a hood crafted from thick fur the color of winter storms, lined with softer pelts that will frame her face perfectly. The construction is masterful—every stitch precise, every seam reinforced against the harsh realities of northern winters.
"Oh," she breathes, holding the hood against her cheek to test its softness. "It's so warm. And it smells like pine and snowflakes."
The second gift makes her gasp outright. Nestled in leather wrapping lies a carved figure no larger than her palm—a pine stag rendered in perfect detail, its antlers spreading in delicate points, its eyes holding the alert intelligence of its living counterpart. The craftsmanship is extraordinary, each line flowing naturally into the next, creating something that seems to capture the very essence of forest magic.
"He's beautiful," she whispers, cradling the carving with reverent hands. "He looks like he might run away if I'm not careful."
Nelrish's expression holds quiet satisfaction as he watches her examine the gifts. The pleasure in his eyes suggests these aren't random offerings but carefully chosen tokens, selected with intimate knowledge of what would bring her the most joy.
"There's more," he says gently, nodding toward the tree. "Your mother's gifts are waiting as well."
The words send fresh panic skittering through my chest, but Eira's excitement proves infectious. She's already moving back toward the decorated branches, her new hood clutched in one hand and the carved stag held protectively in the other.
"I see them!" she calls, her voice bright with discovery. "Two packages, both pretty!"
She returns with offerings that immediately steal my breath. The first unfolds to reveal a bag crafted from leather so supple it feels like silk beneath my fingers. The construction is flawless—reinforced seams, multiple compartments, straps designed for comfort during long travel. But it's the decoration that makes my throat tighten with emotion: delicate embroidery in blues and greens, depicting pine boughs and winter stars with such skill it resembles artwork more than simple ornamentation.
"It's magnificent," I manage, my voice barely steady as I trace the intricate patterns with wandering fingers. "I've never seen anything so beautiful."
The second gift renders me temporarily speechless. A knife emerges from leather wrapping—not the crude, functional blades common to survival situations, but something approaching artistry. The handle fits my grip perfectly, its weight balanced with mathematical precision. But it's the blade that stops my heart: etched along its length are stars, constellations I recognize from childhood stories, rendered with such delicate detail they seem to shimmer in the firelight.
"The stars will guide you," Nelrish says softly, his voice carrying layers of meaning that resonate through my chest. "No matter how dark the path becomes."
Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes as I hold these impossible gifts, feeling their weight not just in my hands but in my heart. The thought and care evident in every detail overwhelms me—someone took time to consider what would bring me joy, what would serve my needs, what would remind me that I'm valued beyond simple utility.
But beneath the gratitude sits the growing weight of inadequacy. These beautiful, thoughtful offerings demand reciprocation I cannot provide. What do I have to give that could possibly match such generosity?
"Thank you," I whisper, the words hopelessly insufficient but all I can manage around the tightness in my throat. "These are... they're perfect."
Eira settles beside me, her new hood perched jauntily on her curls and the carved stag held like a treasured companion. She radiates contentment so complete it practically glows, and the sight eases some of my internal turmoil. Whatever my failings, she's happy. That has to be enough.
I lean down, whispering to her. “I think the winter brought Nelrish a gift, too.”
Eira’s eyes widen and she jumps up, rushing to her room. She’d help me make his gift, one that we both put a lot of love and thought into. A grin is spread across her face as she comes running back, holding the little bundle that she’s decorated with berries and small pine cones.
“Nelrish.” She stops before him, holding it out. “Me and Mama made you this.”
He takes it from her, slowly opening the gift, and I find myself nervous. Vaenna helped us get the supplies we needed to make Nelrish a medallion to go on his necklace—the one he never takes off. He told me it was the symbol of his family, and I thought it would be nice if he had another one to go with the new family we have made.
“It’s not much,” I finally say. His fingers brush over the design stamped into the smooth metal—the design that he and Eira drew in the snow. The combination of our winter wishes, of our cultures, of our beginning. “But we thought you might like to carry us around with you, too.”
His eyes lift to look at Eira first, though his thumb keeps swiping over the metal. “I love it.” She beams, but my heart still pounds. It feels like he has more to say.
Nelrish rises smoothly, his movements carrying the fluid grace that marks him as dangerous even in moments of gentleness. He approaches slowly, his storm-colored eyes holding something I can't quite read—not disappointment, but something deeper. More complex.
"Eira," he says, his voice carrying the gentle authority that always gets her attention. "Would you like to take your new treasures to your room and get dressed? We can go to the cookhouse to see the other kids.”
She nods eagerly, already lost in imaginative play that involves her carved figure and elaborate scenarios that require whispered narration. The sight of her contentment should ease my anxiety, but instead it amplifies the sense of inadequacy pressing against my ribs like trapped breath.
Once she's down the hall, Nelrish extends his hand toward me with patient expectation. I take it automatically, allowing him to draw me into him. His warmth is a welcome embrace.
“Do you really like it?” I can’t help feeling so insecure over such a small gift.
“It is perfect, Mara. I can’t wait to wear it.” I nod, transfixed by his gaze. "I have another gift for you," he says quietly, his thumb stroking across my knuckles with absent tenderness. "One that couldn't wait under the tree."
Fresh panic floods my system. Another gift means deeper debt, greater obligation to match generosity I cannot hope to equal. But his expression holds something that doesn't match simple offering—something more vulnerable, more uncertain than I've ever seen from him.
