My hands still on the medical supplies. "What kind of dreams?"
"Strange ones. Vivid." She pulls the blanket closer, as if the memory makes her cold. "I dreamed of an orc warrior with burn scars and braided hair. Standing in firelight, reaching for me."
The description sends ice through my veins. "What else?"
"You spoke my name. Called me yours." Her voice drops to barely a whisper. "I woke up aching for someone I'd never met."
I stare at her, mind racing. Dreams aren't prophecy—except when they are. Maedra believed in signs, in divine intervention. She'd have called this fate.
"When I first saw you at the summit," Seris continues, "it was like recognition. Like I'd been waiting for you without knowing it."
"You never mentioned this before."
"Would you have believed me?" She meets my eyes directly. "Would you have stayed that night if I'd told you I dreamed of you first?"
The question hangs between us like smoke. Would I have? Or would I have run faster, convinced she was either mad or trying to manipulate me?
"I don't know," I admit.
"Well, it really happened," she grumbles.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth—the first genuine one I've felt in days. "I haven't stopped dreaming of you since."
Her eyes widen slightly, as if she expected deflection or another wall thrown up between us. Instead, she reaches for my hand, her fingers cold but steady as they find mine. When she squeezes, it's tentative at first, then firmer as I squeeze back.
Our fingers intertwine naturally, her smaller hand fitting against mine like it was carved to match. Hope—that's what this feels like. Fragile and fierce at once, burning bright in a world that's tried its best to snuff it out.
"Good," she whispers. "I was starting to worry I was the only one losing sleep."
I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Her skin tastes like salt and determination. "Never just you."
The wind picks up outside our shelter, howling through gaps in the ancient stonework. Snow swirls past the entrance inghostly spirals, reminding me we can't stay here long. Dawn will bring pursuit—if it hasn't already.
"Rest while I work." I release her hand reluctantly, already missing the warmth. "We need food and heat, but we can't risk staying more than one night."
I venture back into the storm long enough to check the snares I set earlier. The wire loops are simple but effective—old techniques my father taught me before politics poisoned everything between us. Two fat rabbits hang limp in the cold, their fur already stiffening. Not much, but enough to keep us alive another day.
Back inside, I build a small fire in the deepest corner of the shelter, banking it with stones to contain both light and smoke. The flames catch quickly on dry kindling I gathered from dead branches, casting dancing shadows on the carved walls. Ancient human faces seem to watch us from the stone, their expressions shifting with the firelight.
Seris watches me skin and prepare the rabbits, her eyes heavy but alert. "You're good at this."
"Survival?" I thread meat onto makeshift spits. "Had to learn young. The clan doesn't coddle anyone—not even a chieftain's heir."
"No. Taking care of people." She shifts closer to the fire, pulling my cloak tighter around her shoulders. "It's not what I expected from the stories."
"What stories?"
"The ones about orc warleaders. All blood and brutality, no... tenderness."
The meat sizzles as fat drips into the flames. "Maybe those stories got it wrong."
"Or maybe," she says softly, "you're different than they thought you'd be."
When the food is ready, we eat in comfortable silence. The rabbit is tough and gamey, but it's hot and fills the hollow ache in our bellies. Seris manages half her portion before exhaustion claims her again.
That night, we sleep tangled together beneath my furs, heartbeat to heartbeat. Her back curves against my chest, my arm draped protectively over the swell where our child grows. Every breath she takes, I feel. Every small movement sends warmth through me.
For the first time since leaving Azhgar, I allow myself to believe we might actually survive this.
