More terrifying in its implications.
The feast continues well into evening, conversation and laughter creating background warmth against winter cold. Eventually people begin moving away from the tables toward the central fire pit, carrying drinks and continuing discussions in smaller groups that shift and reform as interests and energy levels dictate.
I find myself standing at the edge of the gathering, watching clan members share stories and jokes around flames that cast dancing shadows across familiar faces. The community warmth makes my chest tight with emotions I can't quite name—gratitude, certainly, but also something deeper. Something that feels dangerously close to belonging.
Kai appears beside me with the silent approach of someone who's learned to move quietly despite his massive size. His presence radiates heat and the subtle tension of someone working through internal debates.
"Good feast," I say, aiming for casual conversation that doesn't acknowledge the weight of whatever's building between us.
"Better than expected," he agrees. "Drogath's preparations usually involve more ritual complexity and less actual food."
"The chocolate was a hit."
"Your work," he points out. "The clan appreciates contributions from new members."
New members. Not temporary guests or political obligations, but people who belong here permanently. The casual classification makes something warm unfurl in my chest, hope that I've been afraid to acknowledge directly.
"I have something for you," I say before courage can desert me completely.
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with implications that make my pulse quicken. Gift-giving creates connection, establishes relationships that extend beyond simple coexistence. Offering something personal to Kai means admitting that his opinion matters, that I want his approval and acceptance.
That I care what happens between us.
"You don't need to—" he begins, but I'm already reaching into the pouch at my side where I've carried the folded paper heart since completing it earlier.
The valentine looks even smaller in the firelight, pale and fragile against the winter darkness. Nothing impressive compared to the carved tokens and practical gifts other clan members exchange, but honest effort nonetheless.
Kai accepts the folded paper with hands large enough to completely engulf the delicate creation, his ice-blue eyes studying the simple heart shape with intensity that makes my stomach flutter nervously. His expression shifts through surprise, recognition, something deeper that he quickly suppresses.
"It's not much," I say, suddenly self-conscious about the gift's obvious inadequacy compared to orcish craftsmanship. "I'm not good at making things, but the festival traditions seemed to call for?—"
"It's perfect," he interrupts, voice rough with emotion he doesn't bother hiding. "No one's ever... I mean, humans don't usually..."
He trails off, apparently struggling with how to articulate whatever the gift means to him. His thumb traces the paper's careful creases with reverence usually reserved for precious objects, treating my simple craft project like something worthy of preservation.
"I have something for you too," he says finally, reaching into his own carrying pouch with movements that carry nervous energy I've never seen from him before.
The object he produces makes my breath catch. A carved wooden wolf, small enough to fit in my palm but detailed with the kind of artistic skill that speaks to hours of careful work. Every line of the creature's body flows with captured motion, as if the wood remembers being alive and might resume breathing at any moment.
"It's a Frostfang symbol," he explains as I accept the carving with trembling fingers. "Means 'I guard what I value.' Traditionally given to... to people who matter."
The weight of the gift settles heavy in my chest, implications that extend far beyond simple friendship or political alliance. Kai carved this specifically for me, spent time and effort creatingsomething beautiful that carries cultural significance I'm only beginning to understand.
Something that declares his feelings in ways words haven't quite managed.
"Thank you," I breathe, not sure what I'm trying to say but needing to acknowledge the magnitude of what he's offering.
Our eyes meet across the small space between us, firelight casting shadows that make his expression difficult to read but can't hide the intensity of his focus. The careful distance we've maintained for days dissolves into charged awareness, recognition of possibilities that neither of us has been brave enough to examine directly.
He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, close enough that his body heat creates a pocket of warmth in the winter air. His massive frame should be intimidating at this distance, but instead feels protective, solid in ways that make safety seem possible despite everything I've learned about the temporary nature of security.
"Saela," he says quietly, my name carrying weight that makes my pulse quicken.
The space between us shrinks as if drawn by gravity neither of us can resist. His ice-blue eyes drop to my mouth with intention that makes heat flare in my stomach, anticipation that builds toward something I've been afraid to want.
His head lowers toward mine with careful deliberation, giving me time to retreat if I choose to, but I don't move except to rise slightly on my toes to meet him halfway. The moment stretches taut with possibility, breath mingling in the cold air as his lips hover just above mine?—
"Kai."
