“Is that… good?”
“Very good.” Cera settled onto the bench across from her, cradling her own cup. “Complaining means she feels safe enough to have preferences. It means she’s starting to believe she might be around long enough for preferences to matter.”
She thought about that. She remembered her own early days. She’d existed on a kind of numb autopilot because wanting things felt dangerous. If you wanted things, they could be taken away. If you didn’t want anything, no one could hurt you by withholding it.
“I remember when I started complaining,” she said quietly. “You were so pleased.”
“I was. You told me the tea was too bitter and demanded honey.” Cera’s eyes crinkled. “I nearly cried with relief. You’d been a ghost for weeks, going through motions, and then suddenly you were a person again. A person who wanted honey in her tea.”
“It seems so small.”
“The small things are the biggest things. Every choice you make is a statement: I exist. I matter. My preferences are real. My future is worth planning for.” Cera took a slow sip of her tea. “Trauma steals that from you. The belief that you’ll have a future at all. Recovery is building it back, one tiny choice at a time.”
She turned her cup in her hands, watching the steam rise. “Cera. Can I ask you something?”
“You can always ask. I reserve the right not to answer.”
“What happened to Njkall’s parents?”
Cera set her cup down with exaggerated care.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been with him for almost a year and I don’t know anything about his past. I know everything about the male he is now. But I don’t know who he was. I don’t know what made him.” She met Cera’s gaze. “I want to understand him. Really understand him. And I think that means knowing where he came from.”
Cera was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled in the small hearth that warmed the storage cave. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the rhythmic clang of the smithy beginning its morning work.
“It’s not really my story to tell,” Cera said finally. “But I can tell you the parts that everyone in the clan knows.” She shifted, settling into the telling. “Njkall’s father was the clan leader before him. Korval. He was a good male—strong, fair, respected. His mother was a healer, like me. They were happy, or at least as happy as anyone can be, carrying the weight of the clan.”
“What happened to them?”
“Ice storm. Njkall was twelve—barely more than a cub. A group of hunters were caught outside when the storm hit. Korval went out with the rescue party. Njkall’s mother went too, because there would be injuries. Neither of them came back.”
Her chest tightened.Twelve.She tried to imagine Njkall as a child, suddenly alone, suddenly without the parents who should have been there to guide him into adulthood.
“He became clan leader at twelve?”
“Not immediately. There were regents—older warriors who handled the leadership responsibilities until he came of age. But everyone knew the position was waiting for him. Everyone knew that one day he’d have to fill his father’s place.” Cera’s expression was distant, remembering. “I watched him grow up. I watched him take on more responsibility year after year, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the boy at all. Just the leader. Just the protector.”
“He never got to be young.”
“No.” Cera’s voice was soft. “He didn’t. He learned to take care of others before he ever learned to take care of himself. He learned that his job was to be strong and steady, to be the foundation everyone else built their lives on. And he did it. He’s done it magnificently. But I wonder sometimes…” She trailed off.
“What?”
“I wonder if he ever learned how to let someone take care of him.” Cera looked at her with something that might have been hope. “Until you.”
She thought about all the nights she’d crept into his bed seeking comfort. She’d thought she was the one who needed him, but maybe he needed it too. Maybe holding her was the closest he’d ever come to being held himself.
“He’s been alone a long time,” she said quietly.
“He has. And he’s very good at it. Too good.” Cera reached across and squeezed her hand. “You’re the first person I’ve seen him want for himself.”
“Sometimes I wonder if he knows how to want anything for himself. He always turns it into protecting me.”
“Child, the entire clan knows that he wants you. Njkall may be patient as stone, but he’s about as subtle as a rockslide when it comes to you. Everyone’s been waiting for one of you to admit it.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to be… whatever I’m trying to be. All I know is that I’m tired of being afraid of wanting things. I’m tired of—” She threw out her hands. “I’m tired of being careful. I want to be brave.”
