My heart sinks. More people. More expectations. More gifts and traditions and careful attention to my every reaction. The walls of the longhouse seem to close in around me, beautiful and well-crafted and absolutely inescapable.
But before the panic can fully take hold, the door opens to admit two more orcs—a lean male with blue-green eyes and shoulder-length black hair tied in a neat bun, and behind him, Kai, looking harried and slightly annoyed.
"Falla," Shae says with obvious pleasure. "Perfect timing. Come meet our guest."
The healer—because that's obviously what he is, given the leather satchel of supplies slung across his shoulder—approaches with a direct gaze that seems to catalog every detail of my appearance in seconds. His assessment is clinical rather than judgmental, but thorough enough to make me shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"Human," he says finally, as if confirming a diagnosis. "Malnourished, exhausted, probably dehydrated. When did you last have a proper meal?"
The blunt question catches me off guard. "I... yesterday? Maybe the day before. I don't really remember."
Falla makes a disgusted sound. "Typical. Kai, why isn't she eating?"
"She is eating," Kai says, gesturing at the partially consumed meal in front of me. "Shae brought breakfast."
"Not nearly enough." Falla settles into the chair beside Shae and fixes me with a stern look. "You're going to eat everythingon that tray, drink at least two cups of water, and then we're going to discuss proper nutrition for humans living in mountain climates."
Despite everything, I find myself almost smiling at his matter-of-fact bossiness. There's something refreshing about someone who treats me like a patient with specific needs rather than a mystical gift to be handled with reverent care.
"Falla takes his healing responsibilities seriously," Shae explains with obvious affection. "He'll have you healthy and properly fed within a week, whether you cooperate or not."
"Cooperation makes the process more pleasant for everyone involved," Falla says dryly. "But it's not strictly necessary."
His tone is so perfectly deadpan that I actually do smile this time. The expression feels strange on my face—it's been so long since I've had anything to smile about that the muscles feel rusty.
"There," he says with satisfaction. "Much better. You look almost human when you're not scowling."
"Falla," Shae warns, but she's trying not to laugh.
"What? It's a medical observation. Prolonged stress causes muscle tension in the facial region, leading to?—"
"Leading to you getting smacked if you don't stop analyzing our guest like a specimen," Kai interrupts, but there's warmth in his voice. I can tell that when he said family, he didn't just mean by blood.
These people clearly care about each other, I realize. For all their strange traditions and misguided divine interventions, there's genuine affection here. It's the kind of easy camaraderie that develops between people who've shared hardships and triumphs, who trust each other enough for honest teasing and gentle correction.
It's also exactly the kind of belonging that I've never had and can't afford to want.
A distant shout cuts through the comfortable atmosphere, followed by the sound of running footsteps. All three orcs tense simultaneously, their casual demeanor shifting to alertness in the space of a heartbeat. Kai moves toward the door, his hand instinctively going to the weapon at his side.
"What—" I start, but Shae holds up a hand for silence.
More voices outside, urgent and overlapping. I catch fragments through the walls: "...scouts spotted..." "...Stonevein colors..." "...moving this way..."
My blood turns to ice. They found me. After everything, after running and hiding and watching people die, the Stonevein finally tracked me down. And now they're going to bring that violence here, to these people who never asked to be part of my nightmare.
Kai yanks open the door and steps outside, his voice carrying clearly as he addresses whoever brought the news. "How many? How far?"
The response is too muffled for me to make out, but I see the way his shoulders tense, the subtle shift in his posture that speaks of a warrior preparing for battle. When he turns back toward the longhouse, his expression is grim but unsurprised.
"Stonevein scouts," he confirms, closing the door behind him. "Three of them, maybe four, spotted near the eastern border. They're keeping their distance for now, but they're definitely watching our territory."
"Looking for something," Falla says quietly, his gaze finding mine across the room.
Or someone. The words hang unspoken in the air, but everyone present understands the implication. The Stonevein aren't here by accident—they're here because they know I'm here, or at least suspect it strongly enough to risk violating Frostfang territory.
Guilt crashes over me like a physical weight. I brought this to them. My presence here has put the entire clan in danger, turned their celebration into a potential battleground. All because I was too desperate and too stupid to find a better hiding place than their religious festival.
"I have to leave," I say, standing so quickly that my chair scrapes against the floor. "If they're looking for me, if they think I'm here?—"
