In this moment, with her cradled in my arms, she is by far the most dangerous thing I’ve ever held, because I’m not sure if I’m meant to protect her,or be undone by her.
My hooves twitch nervously, digging accidental furrows into the ground. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. She doesn't say another word, just exhales, and curls even deeper into my chest, like she's always belonged there.
I don’t know what she’ll think of me when she wakes up and sees what I am. But here, now, wrapped in her warmth, her trust, her undivided surrender—I am hers.
I dip my head and press my mouth to the crown of her damp, snow-covered hair and whisper—so softly even the forest leans in to hear.“Velorin… etra’kai lûn.”(You are safe with me. Even if it kills me.) I would burn down this entire forest to keep her warm for a single night.
She remains still even as I rise to my full height. The way she whisperedVelorinreplays in my mind like a broken record, and I ache like a creature who’s finally been named.
She'skaemorin.Not because I claimed her—though I do. But because she called for me. Something ancient heard her grief and thought I was the answer.
The woods partfor me as I walk, branches bending away without sound; they know where I’m taking her. “Skarae’n ves lûr… kaemorin,” I murmur as I adjust her in my arms. (The forest knows you’re mine.)
I carry her over ravines and frozen thickets. Through moss-blanketed caves and bone-cold shadow paths, until the woods begin to thin and the world grows quiet. I slow my pace as myhome comes into view, carved into the cliffside like it grew there—built with hands that had no one to build for.
The logs have been blackened with age, and the curved roof is half-buried in snow. Smoke drifts from the chimney in soft ribbons, fading into the hush of the sky.
I step onto the stone threshold, and golden runes carved into the rock flare brightly under the snow as they recognize my soul signature. They pulse brighter… warmer as they accept hers.
The door swings open before I reach for it, the wind curling through like an old friend welcoming me back. Warmth hits me first; the hearth is lit low and smoldering, kept alive by instinct more than intention. The coals never die here; they wait for me to return.
I kneel down and stoke the fire back to life, watching the orange flames lick up the soot-stained chimney. Without thinking, my hand seeks out the hearthstone carved with my lineage mark. My fingers find the familiar grooves, and I turn it clockwise a single time.For her.
Veyr’haelin. It’s a custom as old as this forest, a silent vow that the fire will not burn her, the shadows will not take her, and the walls will recognize her as their own. To turn the stone is to weave a circle of protection around the guest, welcoming them not just into the house, but into the soul of the home. As the stone clicks into place, the room feels… different. For three thousand years, this stone has remained cold and stationary. Now, it pulses with the warmth of the woman snuggled in my arms.
I move through the living area, where the walls rise like forest giants, logs curving inward protectively like the ribs of a shield. Lining the walls are shelves, carved from the stone of the mountain, cradling dried herbs, relics, and other things I've collected over lifetimes of solitude.
I lower her carefully onto one of the oversized couches, its surface worn soft with age, and drape the softest pelt I own over her small form. She curls into the warmth immediately.
I kneel beside her, unable to look away. She’s still sound asleep, breathing deep and even now, the panic that has seized her in the woods finally smoothed away by exhaustion.
“Velorin…velorin…” I breathe again. “Etra’ven…Saelûn.”
I should get up and prepare a healing tincture or find more blankets. At the very least, remove her boots before the cold seeps any deeper into her bones.
But I am rooted to this spot.
My hands ache with a phantom hunger—thrae’nai. (Soft-clawing)
I press both palms flat against the aged wood of the cabin floor. I let the tips of my claws sink in, dragging them down the planks in slow, rhythmic strokes.
Each groove deepens. Each pull against the grain grounds me. Splinters catch beneath my nails, but I welcome the sting—it keeps me from reaching for her before she’s ready.
The firelight catches on the soft curve of her cheek, painting her in gold. The feather braided in her hair burrows a little deeper with each breath she takes.
Etra’kai lûn.
LumiPOV-
I'm not sure where I am, but I'm not cold anymore.Maybe I died.
I don't feel dead, though. I just feel... heavy. Like I’m underwater, suspended somewhere between waking and dreaming, tethered to my body by the thinnest thread.
I can't open my eyes yet. I'm so tired. I can hear something—a low rumbly sound. I try to focus, but the words are muffled, like I’m listening through a wall.
“Oou woo woe but boove bun, bopbop?” mumbles a growly voice.
I'm sorry, but what?
