But today's different. Today I feel almost normal, and maybe that'll be enough to get through a few hours of craft work without my skin trying to crawl off my bones.
Saela greetsme outside Shae's dwelling with a fierce hug that makes my ribs protest slightly.
"Easy," I wheeze, but I'm smiling.
"Sorry!" She pulls back, her gray-green eyes scanning my face with the assessing look she's perfected over weeks of worry. "You look good. Better than good. You look happy."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised, I'm delighted." She links her arm through mine like we're girls again, running wild through the forest before everything went wrong. "Come on. Shae's got enough supplies to outfit an army of craftspeople."
She's not exaggerating. Shae's dwelling overflows with materials—leather scraps, colored yarn, carved wooden beads, metal wire, polished stones. The space smells like beeswax and herbs, warm and lived-in in ways my sparse cabin will never be.
Shae looks up from where she's sorting through a basket of brass findings, her green eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. "Ressa! I'm so glad you came."
The greeting still makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably, but the sensation feels less suffocating than usual. "Thank you for hosting."
"Of course." She gestures to the array of materials spread across a large work table. "I've got everything set up. What are you making?"
I pull the partially completed wrap from the bag I've been carrying. "Hand-knit. I just need to finish the last section and add the closure."
"That's beautiful work." Shae touches the yarn carefully, examining the pattern. "The colors are lovely together."
"Saela helped design it."
"Only a little," Saela protests, settling onto a cushion with her own project—what looks like a leather knife sheath with intricate tooling. "You're doing all the actual knitting."
We work in companionable silence for a while, our hands busy with creating while conversation flows naturally around craft techniques and material choices. Shae's making a carved wooden box with metal inlay for Bronn, the design incorporating symbols that apparently represent their relationship journey.
I lose myself in the rhythm of knitting—yarn sliding through fingers, needles clicking together, the pattern emerging rowby row. It's meditative in ways that quiet my mind without requiring the conscious effort breathing exercises demand.
"So," Saela says after we've been working for maybe half an hour, her tone deliberately casual. "How are things going with Falla?"
I focus intently on the stitch I'm completing. "Fine. Good. He's been helpful with the festival activities."
"Helpful." Saela's eyebrow arches in a way that suggests she knows I'm downplaying. "That's one way to describe it."
"What other way would you describe it?"
Shae makes a sound that might be a poorly suppressed laugh. I glance up to find her watching me with an expression I can't quite read—knowing and amused and maybe a little pleased.
"What?" I ask defensively.
"Nothing." She returns her attention to the wooden box, but her smile stays fixed in place. "Just noting that Falla's been very attentive during the festival."
"He's making sure I don't have a panic attack in front of the entire clan." The explanation comes automatic, defensive. "It's not—we're just?—"
"You kissed him," Shae interrupts calmly, still focused on her carving work.
My hands freeze mid-stitch. Heat floods my face so fast I feel lightheaded. "You saw that?"
"Hard to miss when you were creating rainbows in the middle of the training grounds." She looks up now, her expression gentle. "It was sweet."
Sweet. My brain short-circuits trying to process that description. Nothing about my life has been sweet in months. The word doesn't fit the reality I've been living.
Except yesterday was sweet. Standing with Falla while rainbow light scattered through mist, his arms careful around me, the kiss tasting like morning and possibility.
Fuck.
