Outside, the late afternoon air carries the sharp bite of winter and the distant sounds of festival preparations. Children practicing traditional songs, adults discussing logistics for tomorrow's feast, the rhythmic percussion of crafting activities that never fully stops in a community this size.
Normal sounds. The background noise of people building life together despite harsh circumstances.
I'm walking toward the longhouse when Ursik intercepts my path with the casual timing of someone who's been watching for opportunities. His massive frame and perpetual good humor have become familiar fixtures in my daily routine, though I still feel dwarfed by his presence in ways that have nothing to do with physical intimidation.
"Little Bird!" His greeting carries the affectionate teasing I've learned to associate with genuine acceptance rather than mockery. "Perfect timing. I was hoping to catch you."
"For what?" I ask, falling into step beside him as he heads toward the central gathering area.
"Curiosity, mostly." His gray eyes sparkle with the kind of mischief that usually precedes uncomfortable questions. "How are things progressing with our brooding friend?"
The question makes heat climb my neck. "Things are...fine."
"Fine." He repeats the word like it tastes wrong. "That's the most enthusiastic endorsement I've heard all week."
"We're figuring out how to live together without driving each other insane," I clarify, aiming for humor and probably achieving awkwardness instead. "It's more complicated than either of us expected."
"Most worthwhile things are."
The comment echoes something Shae said earlier, making me wonder if there's some kind of coordinated campaign to make me think more seriously about my relationship with Kai. The possibility that his friends are actively trying to facilitate romance feels both touching and mortifying.
"We're definitely not meant to be," I say with conviction born from careful observation. "We're too different. Too many complications."
Ursik stops walking and turns to study my face with the sudden intensity of someone who's heard something unexpected. "What?"
"What, what?" I counter, confused by his reaction.
"You really don't see it, do you?"
"See what?"
His expression shifts into something resembling gentle exasperation mixed with fond disbelief. "Kai is different with you around. Less grumpy, for starters. Less weighed down by whatever ghosts he's been carrying."
The observation hits me sideways. I think of Kai's careful attention during training sessions, the way his ice-blue eyes soften when he thinks I'm not watching, the protective instinct that extends beyond political obligation into something more personal.
"He's just being responsible," I protest. "Making sure I don't cause problems for the clan."
"Right." Ursik's tone suggests he finds my explanation completely unconvincing. "That's why he spent yesterday askingthree different people whether you seemed happy here. Pure responsibility."
The information makes my chest flutter in ways I try to ignore. Kai has been checking on my emotional state? Caring about my adjustment beyond the minimum required for political stability?
"He's been through loss," Ursik continues, his voice gentling into something more serious. "Lost someone he cared about to politics and circumstances he couldn't control. Made him careful about getting attached to anything that might be taken away."
Understanding blooms like warmth spreading through cold limbs. The careful distance Kai maintains, the way he helps without getting too close, the protection he offers while avoiding anything that might be interpreted as personal interest—it's not indifference or duty.
It's fear.
Fear of caring too much about someone he might lose. Fear of repeating patterns that led to previous heartbreak. Fear of investing emotions in relationships that external circumstances could destroy without warning.
The same fears I carry, just expressed differently.
"I hope you don't shut him out completely," Ursik says quietly. "Even if you decide you're just friends in the end. He could use someone who sees past the walls he's built to keep people at safe distances."
The words settle heavy in my chest, carrying implications that shift my entire understanding of the careful dynamic Kai and I have established. What I interpreted as polite obligation might actually be someone trying to protect himself from disappointment while still offering genuine care.
"I should go," I say finally, needing space to process this new perspective.
"Think about it," Ursik calls after me as I head toward the longhouse. "Sometimes the people who seem strongest are the ones who need friendship most."
