A strong resemblance, yes,Ereven agreed.
Had four generations truly passed since she’d known them?Had the mountain accepted Draven, the then eight-year-old Savian would have become her son.It touched her that he’d remembered her after all this time.
“We’ll be going, then,” Fremir said.
“Papa, wait!”the boy exclaimed.“The hawklet.”
The man sighed, watching his son instead of meeting her gaze.“He found an injured hawk a week ago.Grandfather Savian told him to bring it to you if it didn’t heal.”
“Will you help him?”The young voice tugged at her memory.
“Will you help me?”Savian held out the chunk of black stone he was trying to carve.His dimpled smile tugged at her heart.
“What are you trying to carve?”she asked quietly, dropping to the floor beside the fire to sit with him.
“Neka.”He grinned up at her before looking across the room.
The young owlcat was curled up on Draven’s lap.The man was passed out in the chair, the lines of his face softened with sleep after a long day of hunting.
She smiled softly.Neka was truly too big for that but took advantage of his willingness to spoil her to win her favor.Shrewd little thing.
Savian looked up at her with beseeching blue eyes that matched his father’s.
“I’m not very good, but I’ll try.”Not with normal tools anyway, but she hadn’t confessed her magic to the pair yet.
Daya covered Savian’s hands with her own and helped him use his father’s carving tool to strike the stone.Maybe it was time to tell them the truth of who she was.
Daya’s chest swelled with emotion.Was she to suffer every challenge?Her future, present, and now her past all seemed determined to test her strength.She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat that robbed her of speech.
“You can leave him in the barn.We’ll do what we can.”Raiden’s stern voice came from behind her.It was deep and steady, lacking the amused lilt she’d come to know.
His strong hands came down on her shoulders with a tender touch as he stepped close.
“Who are you?”the villager asked suspiciously.
Like it was any of his business.The threatening tone brought her back to spitting mad, but Raiden’s palms pressed her shoulders in silent communication to stay calm.
“I’m a horse trainer, and a friend of Daya’s.We’ve been working together, learning each other’s trades for quite some time, but we prefer to keep to ourselves.Your horse needs new shoes, by the way.Next time a blacksmith stops by the village, you should inquire or take him into one of the larger towns.I assume you don’t have one, based on their condition.”
That was an interesting stretch of the truth.More interesting was the perfect accent Raiden used.
His normal cadence had deepened to a more pronounced Eldrin accent instead of the soft one he usually had.Even down to the slightly guttural Zamyran undertone that locals in the deeper inland region had picked up from their neighbors across the border.
The boy—who was a spitting image of Savian—jogged past, having safely deposited the hawklet in the barn.The child smiled tentatively at her as he returned.
“I’ll look into that,” Fremir replied, studying his horse with a frown.“Good day, huntress.”
Swinging the child and then himself up onto the horse, Draven’s descendants turned and rode away.
She’d accepted her past mistakes, but having them race by in flesh and blood gave her pause, long buried emotions rising in waves just as powerful as they’d once been.
She’d loved and lost not just a potential mate in Draven but a son in Savian.It had been a long time since she’d thought about either.Until Raiden had fought his way into her life and woken her heart up from its deep slumber.
But she knew better than to follow those dangerous yearnings.Guardians weren’t meant to have a mate or children.
“Want to explain that?”Raiden asked.
“Not really, no.”
