Her words settle deep in my chest. I glance toward the window and out at the forest beyond. If the Migoi is real—what was tonight? A warning for what?
I chew my bottom lip thoughtfully and reply, “Or just an animal.”
“Maybe,” she allows. “But the forest you pointed to—it’s not a good idea.”
I lean forward. “So, you believe they’re real?”
She meets my gaze again, her voice dropping back to a whisper. “When winter comes, almost everyone leaves. But my family has always stayed. We’ve seen the tracks in the snow, the broken branches—signs of something too big to be a man. When we have enough, we leave offerings. When we have no choice, we enter the woods with caution.”
With a far off look in her eyes, she turns her face to the window and continues. “One year, an early storm swept in—stronger than anything we had seen before. It buried the roads, sealed us inside, and lasted so long we burned through what little firewood we had. We thought we would freeze to death. The day we ran out, we opened the door to find wood stacked in a huge pile.”
She blinks away the memories and meets my eyes again intently. “No mere man could have stacked that much wood overnight. I listen to the mountains, to the earth. And I respect the Migoi.”
Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, I think back to the crash we heard, the strange tension I felt. “But why would it warn us—or worse?”
She shrugs, but there’s a flicker of concern in her expression. “Maybe it wasn’t a warning. Maybe it was just passing through.But the forest you pointed to—it's still not a good idea even without the Migoi. There are other dangers—the harsh terrain, unpredictable weather, wild animals, and sometimes avalanches. I can’t guide you over there like I have here.”
I swallow hard, realizing the weight of her words and say softly, “Sita, it’s the only place we haven’t searched. And you know I can’t leave again without that plant.”
She watches me for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, she pats my hand. “We will go up to the ashram before the snows come. We will speak with the elders again. We will listen to the mountain.” She squeezes my fingers. “Now, sleep. We’ll leave at first light.”
I nod, but as she slips out the door, a strange restlessness clings to me. I should be exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easily. The room is warm, safe, wrapped in thick walls and heavy quilts. But my thoughts are still outside, in the dark, tangled somewhere between the firepit and the shadowed tree line.
Listening. Waiting. For what, I’m not sure. But I can’t shake the feeling that something out there is waiting for me, too.
Chapter Eleven
Eryon - Earlier
She is back. The refrain echoes in every beat of my heart as I watch from my vantage point across the river. Her presence ripples through the trees, the river, the very bones of the mountain.
And now she appears as a vision before my eyes, wrapped in the golden light of the setting sun.
For one glorious second, time holds her still—immortal, untouchable, a golden statue impervious to the ravages of life and death. But her eyes—shining with that impossible blue-violet iridescence—declare my Winter Star alive. She is no mere statue. No fleeting vision. And oh, how I want to feel the heat of her in my arms.
For she is the promise of warmth, of fire glowing deep within my cave in the heart of winter. Of comfort against the cold loneliness of my existence.
The moment passes, and she moves through the cold, unguarded, her body soft from a world gentler than mine. Shepulls her jacket tighter as she hurries toward the fire, her breath curling in the air.
I should leave.
The sight of her sends an ache through my chest, deeper than hunger, sharper than the wind that howls through these peaks, because I am no gentle creature. I swore to myself that I would not seek her out again. That her presence would not stir the things inside me that should remain quiet.
And yet, here I am.
Watching. Waiting. I tell myself it is only to ensure her safety. That I let her go once because she was leaving my mountains, leaving the place where my claim on her held weight. But she has returned, whether by fate or chance, and now that she is here, I will not let her walk this path alone. It is a duty. It is instinct.
It is a lie.
I cannot ensure her safety because I am not safe. She has barely been back a day, and already, I feel the old war between logic and something darker stirring in my blood. I cannot let her pull me from the shadows.
She is not mine,my head warns.
Not yet,my heart snaps back.
A restless growl hums in my chest as I press forward, eyes locked on the distant glow of the guesthouse below. Smoke curls from its chimneys, firelight flickers in the windows, and human voices carry on the wind. Their language is rough, foreign.
But hers—I would know hers anywhere.
