I wonder if he can still understand me like this. I wonder if there are words locked behind those blue eyes he can’t get out. Part of me wishes I could hear his voice again—that low rumble that always makes my chest tight.
But then his tail squeezes my waist, and I realize—he doesn’t need words.He’s already saying everything.
Andrik-
I slow as the cabin comes into view, my paws silent on the snow. She’s still gripping my fur, her body warm against my back, her heartbeat steady now. Safe.
I lower myself to the ground so she can slide off. Her legs are shaky when they hit the ground, and I have to nudge her with my muzzle to steady her.
She laughs softly, but she sounds so tired. “Thanks, Bambi,” she says as she scratches behind my ear. I have to tense every muscle in my body to fight the scratch reflex—to keep my hind paw from tapping against the snow like a thrahking house cat.
She has no idea how close she just came to ruining my dignity.
I huff and nudge her toward the cabin before she tries it again.Thrahk,v elis’kai. (Fuck, that felt good.)
...before I let her.
The shift takes me. It’s not gentle—it never has been. When I straighten, she’s watching me with wide eyes.
“Where does it all... go?”
I have to stop myself from chuckling. Despite shifting multiple times a day my entire life, I really don’t know the answer.
“It all just shifts around. Like I’m two different things.”
”That makes no sense.”
“It is a little confusing. I’ve been doing this forever, and I still don’t know how to explain it.”
“Speaking of forever... how old are you?”
I guide her up the stairs. The door creaks open beneath my hand. The scent of pine, firewood, and the faintest trace of her lingers. This place has always been mine—but it was always meant for us.
“I’ll answer that later, go get changed,” I tell her, nodding toward the pile of furs and soft clothes near the hearth. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
She mumbles something that might be an agreement and shuffles toward the fire.
By the time I come back with a plate of cheese, fruit, and bread, she’s changed—drowning in one of my shirts, legs bare, hair still damp from the snow. Her eyes light up when she seesthe plate of food in my hand. “I’m making you tea,” I say. “Don’t fall asleep.”
“I won’t,” she mutters with a mouthful of snowberries.
I go into the kitchen. The kettle takes only a few minutes,
When I walk back in, the plate is in her lap, a piece of bread still clutched in her fingers, and she’s snoring like a little bear.
I press a kiss to her temple, her cheek next, then the corner of her mouth. I whisper into her hair, “velorin kaemorin, Saelûn.”
She curls into my touch as exhaustion drags her deeper. Her body has been through too much. Her soul’s been stretched across too many nights with too little safety. And tonight nearly?—
I grind my jaw.
He was there, in her home, close enough to leave a flower and watch her unravel. Every time I look at her, my chest cracks wider. I can smell it on her—the panic. Still fading, but not gone. She needs comfort. She needs peace.But my body aches for war.
I kneel.
Ves’kaelorin.(The nightwatch.) A Rhavari practice older than language—kneeling beside your vulnerable mate while the world tries to take them from you.
My senses unfurl through the forest like roots through frozen soil. I feel every heartbeat within a mile. Every snap of a twig. Every shift of wind through the trees. Nothing moves that I don’t know about. Nothing breathes that I don’t track.
