I threw a piece of honeycomb at him. He caught it and ate it, still grinning.
This. This is what happiness feels like.
He taught me survival skills with the patience of someone who genuinely wanted me to learn, not just someone going through the motions. How to set snares for rabbits—the right height, the right tension, the way to disguise the scent. How to identify edible plants—which roots were safe, which berries would make me sick, how to tell the difference between herbs that healed and herbs that killed.
"This one," he said, holding up a plant with serrated leaves and tiny white flowers. "Good for pain. Chew the root."
I took it from him carefully, examining the pattern of the veins. "And this one?" I pointed to a similar-looking plant growing a few feet away.
"That one will make you vomit for a day." He looked pleased that I'd asked. "The leaves are darker. See? And the flowers are different, four petals instead of five."
I filed the information away, trying to memorize the subtle differences. It could save my life someday.
We practiced tracking in the soft mud near the river. He showed me how to read the story written in prints and disturbed earth—which direction the animal was moving, how fast, how long ago. Deer tracks, rabbit tracks, wolf tracks that made my stomach clench with unease.
"Can you tell the difference between shifter and animal?" I asked, crouching beside a particularly large paw print.
"Yes." He pointed to the depth of the impression, the spacing of the toes. "This is animal. Wild. Shifter walks different—more weight in the back, like we're thinking about standing on two legs even when we're on four."
The detail fascinated me. "Do you think differently when you're shifted? Like, is it a different mindset?"
He considered the question carefully. "Both the same and different. The bear is always part of me, even in this form. But when I shift, the instincts are... louder. Stronger. Harder to ignore."
"Is it hard to shift back?"
"Sometimes." His expression turned distant. "When I was young, yes. Very hard. I would lose myself in the bear and forget the man. But as you grow, you learn how to move between your spirits, and how to be both at the same time no matter what form you take on the outside."
I thought about that—about losing yourself so completely in another form that you forgot who you were. The idea was both terrifying and strangely appealing.
What would it be like to let go of everything? To just be instinct and sensation?
I imagined it would feel very freeing.
Daska smiled down at me.
“Do not worry, mate of mine. When we have cubs of our own, I will make sure they are completely at ease with their spirits. You do not need to worry.”
I returned the smile, reaching up to touch his face.
“I know you would. You will be an amazing father, Daska. I have no doubts.”
He cuddled me in, and I let him, but with him unable to see my face, my smiled faded.Children.
The word hit me like a bucket of ice water. I hadn't thought that far ahead, hadn't let myself imagine a future beyond surviving the winter, beyond figuring out how to navigate this impossible situation I'd found myself in. I’d had the contraceptive implant for years, and had only just had a new one inserted when Nathan had broken our bond and ended things. It had maybe another two years before it ran out, so I knew right now I was fine and there was no chance of a surprise pregnancy right now, not that I’d even been thinking about that. But Daska was thinking about it. Planning for it. Building a future in his mind that included me and children. I found as I thought about it now, it wasn’t even a question of not wanting them. The idea of spending my life with Daska, having this quiet life, raising our babies… cubs… the thought filled me with joy.
What if I can't give him that? What if I have to leave? What if—
"Ellie?" His hand touched my shoulder, gentle and concerned. "Are you okay?"
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... overwhelmed. In a good way."
He studied my face for a long moment, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he could see straight through my lie. But he didn't push. He just nodded and pulled me to my feet, lacing our fingers together as we walked back to the moon hearth.
I needed to tell him everything. About where I was from, and why we’d come here. That when Nathan and his team left, I was going to have to go with them. It was going to hurt him, I realised that now. I’d convinced myself at first that this didn't mean that much to him, I was a diversion. He'd been lonely for so long, anyone would have done. I had been kidding myself. I knew when he looked at me that he was in all the way and that terrified me.
I couldn't keep doing this—building a life with him, accepting his love and his future plans, while hiding the truth about what I was and why I'd come here. Every day I kept silent felt like a betrayal, a small crack forming in the foundation of what we were building together. I should tell him now.
But I couldn’t. Not when he was looking at me like that, his eyes warm and soft and full of something that made my chest ache. I was a coward. I knew it. But I needed to let myself have this, just a little longer.
