Healer’s hands,his teacher had called them.Made for saving lives, not taking them.
His teacher had been wrong about that.
“Tarek?”
He looked up to find Dani standing in the archway, her dark hair mussed and her cheeks flushed with exertion. She was wearing one of his shirts, clumsily belted at the waist, and she looked ridiculous—like a child playing dress-up in her father’s clothes.
Something in his chest clenched at the thought.
“What is it?”
“Jessa says you’re making her a spindle.” Dani skipped closer. “Can I see?”
He hesitated. He wasn’t used to sharing his work. For that matter, he wasn’t used to having anyone interested in his work. But the child’s expression was so earnest that he found himself extending the unfinished piece before he could think better of it.
Dani took it carefully, her small fingers tracing the curves and hollows with a reverence that surprised him.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Did you make all of this?” Her free hand gestured at the den behind them. “The chairs and the shelves and the… the everything?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” She looked up at him with wide blue eyes, unclouded by worry. “You must be really good at making things.”
An uncomfortable warmth spread through his chest. He took the spindle back, perhaps a bit more roughly than necessary.
“It’s just practice. Years of having nothing better to do.”
“Jessa says practice is how you get good at anything.” Dani hoisted herself up onto the new second chair—her chair, although he hadn’t admitted as much—and watched him work. “She practiced weaving every day since she was little. That’s why her cloth is so pretty.”
“Your sister is skilled.”
“She’s the best weaver in the whole valley. Maybe the whole world.” There was no trace of doubt in the child’s voice, just absolute, unwavering faith. “Mama taught her, and Mama was the best before that. It’s in our blood.”
He grunted. He’d seen enough of Jessa’s work over the past few days to know that her skill went beyond mere inheritance. The way she handled the sunvine fibers spoke of a talent that couldn’t be taught.
“Can I help?”
He looked up to find Dani leaning forward, eyes bright with curiosity.
“Help with what?”
“With the spindle. Or—or with whatever you’re making next. I’m really good at helping.” A slight hesitation. “Jessa says I need to rest, but I’m tired of resting. I want to do something useful.”
Useful.His chest ached. This child, this fragile, sickly child who had nearly died in a storm three nights ago, wanted to be useful.
“Your sister is right,” he said gruffly. “You should rest.”
Dani’s face fell. “But?—”
“But…” Against his better judgment, he heard himself continuing. “You could hand me tools. If you wanted. That wouldn’t require much exertion.”
Her smile could have lit the entire mountain.
The next few days blurred together.
He found himself falling into a routine, a comfortable, terrifying routine that felt less like temporary arrangement and more like the life he wanted. The kind of life he’d never expected to have again.
Most mornings he woke before dawn and built up the fire, then prepared breakfast while the others slept. Jessa was usually second to rise, wandering out in one of his shirts with sleep-tangled hair and drowsy eyes that made his beast rumble with satisfaction. They would eat together in companionable silence, sharing the table he’d built for one but somehow now fit three.
