My voice is a croak, a rumble of sound.
Her eyes... they widen. They fill with water. Tears. Sad? No.
"Yes," she whispers. Her voice breaks. "Yes, Threk. That is me."
Good.
I scratch again.
T - H - R - E - K.
The name she gave me. This is me.
I point at the dirt. I point at my chest.
Threk.
She nods, a wet, broken laugh escaping her. "Yes. You are Threk."
She understands.
I need one more.
I need a word for this. For the den. For the fire. For the nest of furs. For her hand on my arm.
I do not have a word.
So I make one.
I draw a circle.
It is simple. It is a wall. It is safe. It is us in the cave. It is us in this den.
I point to her. I point to myself.
I tap the circle.
Us.
She stares at the circle. Her tears fall. They hit the dirt.
She looks at me. Her face is broken and beautiful.
"Us," she whispers. She understands.
She cries, but her scent is not fear. It is not sad. It is... strong. It is bright.
It is happiness.
I made her happy.
I feel... good. My chest is warm. The pain in my head is gone.
I lean forward. I want to... nuzzle her. I want to smell her happiness.
I sniff.
Her scent.
