Morning came warm and slow. Light spilled through the woven shutters in gold ribbons, dappling the wall and the edge of the bed. The air smelled faintly of moss and ash from the hearth below.
Lain stirred first. The weight of Mallow’s arm lay heavy across her ribs. His breath brushed her shoulder in a soft pattern, steady and human and heartbreakingly dear. She lay there a moment, half-dreaming, until she felt the pulse begin again, that deep, aching thrum at the base of her spine, the lingering echo of her Heat.
Her body moved before she could come fully awake. A soft sound escaped her throat, something between a sigh and a whimper.
Mallow’s hand flexed at her waist, sensing it. He blinked awake, slow and disoriented. “Lain?”
Her only answer was to roll against him, her breath already hot at his neck, needful. For a heartbeat, he only stared, then smiled with understanding.
“Alright,” he murmured.
No words followed. She found his mouth with hers, and the world shrank to skin and sweat and the sound of breath huffing between teeth. He caught her hips and guided her down, and they moved together thoughtlessly, simple and unburdened.
When she’d finally had her fill, she collapsed against him, panting. He wrapped his arms around her, still laughing breathlessly into her hair. “We’re going to need more of that tea,” he said. “If only so we can survive the road.”
She laughed too, muffled against his chest. “I’ll try to be civilized.”
He kissed her cheek. “Don’t. I like you feral.”
They dressed in the quiet that followed, the sounds of the village already stirring beyond the window. Atheri had left their freshly washed clothes on the chest by the door. Lain slipped back into her dark green dress and slacks, but instead of tucking her tail she left it out to swish against her pants. Mallow tied his mantle and laced his boots.
When they went downstairs, Soryn and Atheri were waiting by the hearth. The morning light caught in Atheri’s silver hair and the bright feathers braided through it. She smiled. “Come, have breakfast.”
They had fried wheat cakes topped generously with honey and blackberries and soft fresh sheep’s cheese. They laughed together over the table, Soryn making a joke about Lain’s accent. Atheri gave Lain a mug of tea to soothe her Heat.
Lain asked as many questions as came to her – about caring for her antlers, about the best way to trim her hooves, about which foods she should eat when her stomach pained her. When she asked about her newfound healing ability, Atheri and Soryn exchanged a glance.
“It happens, but it is rare,” Soryn said. “It is often something new mothers experience with their Kethling, the first few months.”
“It was a skill your mother had,” Atheri said. “If you’re anything like her, it will last the length of the Heat, but only for the one you’ve bonded to.”
When their forks had dropped and most of the food was eaten, Atheri put a hand on Lain’s. “I’d like to speak with my niece in private for a moment. Would you step outside with me, Lhainara?”
After exchanging a glance with Mallow, Lain nodded, and the two women left the cottage to meet the spring morning.
“You could stay,” Atheri said, with no preamble. “There’s safety here. Family.”
Lain hesitated, her heart tight. “I want to,” she said truthfully. “But I can’t. Not yet.”
Atheri inclined her head, solemn and proud. “Then go, Lhainara Ashael. Do what you came for. But when your task is done, come home.”
Home. The word sank deep, heavy as a bell toll.
She smiled. “I will.”
Atheri walked with her hands clasped lightly behind her back. Lain admired the gentle sway of her torso, the way her Kelthi legs made her gait seem fluid and deer-like. Lain had spent most of her life correcting her gait to match her human counterparts. She let her hips relax, finding that own gentle sway in her gait that felt natural.
“Have you and Mallow spoken of what may happen, should your bond be catching?”
Lain blinked. “Catching?”
“If you grow with child, dear one.”
Lain shook her head. The thought had only occurred to her for the first time the night before. “Does that… happen? Between humans and Kelthi?”
“It can.” Atheri stepped from the path onto a grassy knoll. She took a seat and gestured for Lain to join her. “But Kelthi only bear Kelthi children. Your human may give you a child, but the child will never be human.”
Lain considered this. She didn’t think Mallow would care if a child of theirs was human or not, but surely neither of them were prepared for what bearing a child would mean for them both.
“I believe Mallow would do what is right,” Lain said, finally. “But I’m not certain either of us are… ready.”
Atheri nodded. She pressed a small pouch into her hand, herbs wrapped in soft hide. “Should you discover you’re with child and you wish to wait, consuming these will end the pregnancy.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Lain held the herbs. “Will it hurt?”
Atheri smiled. “No, child. Not if you decide early enough. Your body will re-absorb your pregnancy, if it’s caught within the first two moons.”
“How will I know?”
“There are signs. First your chest will become tender. Your hips, sore.” She glanced at Lain. “In new ways, I mean. But most important, there will be a sense of another in your Tuning, after the sixth week. Then you will be certain.”
Lain nodded, slipping the herbs in her pocket. “Thank you.”
Atheri put an arm around her. “You are so welcome. I am always here, now that you know where to find us.”
After a moment they returned to the cottage, where Soryn presented Lain with a bandolier. It had five pockets, each one empty.
“Add your bells,” Soryn said. She did so, placing her fathers’ bell above her own. She fought down tears and thanked him.
Atheri pressed another small pouch into her hand, the faint scent of mint and fenleaf rising from it. “For the road,” she said with a knowing glance at Mallow.
He grinned. “My thanks, Atheri.”
Soryn and Atheri gifted them other supplies: fresh breads and cheese and fruit, a pack with a bedroll for Lain, a trio of warded scale lamps to deter the bloodwyrms, should they come.
“The path to the Starbloom is treacherous this time of year,” Soryn said. “The weather is unpredictable. There will be snow, icy passages. A narrow mountain ridge leads to the open valley.” He glanced at Mallow. “Your human may not be able to enter there.”
“I understand,” Lain said. She shouldered the pack – it wasn’t terribly heavy, though she thought it might feel differently once they were hiking.
Outside, the valley was alive with birdsong. As they walked toward the narrow passage that led back to the snowbound world, Lain looked once over her shoulder. The green hollow shimmered in the light, unbearably alive, the hum of the wyrm beneath it like a promise.
“Goodbye,” she whispered.
And then they were gone, following the winding passage to the blinding white of winter.
The cold was immediate, the light too sharp after the green valley’s warmth. Their breath plumed white again. The mountains stood unchanged, eternal and indifferent, the hush of snow swallowing every trace of Vaelun.
They followed the trail down into the trees, where it would meet the mountain passage. The snow here was older, crusted gray in the shadows, broken in places by fallen branches. Lain pulled her cloak tighter, though she could still feel the warmth of the valley lingering faintly under her skin, a slow, comforting pulse, the echo of the wyrm.
By midmorning, they stopped at a ridge where the wind carried the scent of smoke to Lain’s more sensitive nose. Not fresh, but recent enough to linger. Lain crouched and brushed a patch of soot from the snow. Beneath it was blackened pine and the dull glint of an extinguished fire ring.
“Camp,” Mallow said quietly, crouching beside her. “A day old. Maybe two.”
Lain frowned. “Brighthand?”
He shook his head. “Not clean enough. Brighthand leave nothing behind.” He picked up a charred scrap, a strip of waxed canvas with some unreadable insignia half-burned away. “Someone traveling light. Could be hunters. Could be sellswords.”
Lain studied the trees, her ears twitching. The forest felt heavier here, as though listening. “You think they’ll come back?”
“Not to the same fire,” Mallow said, scanning the slope. “But they’re moving the same direction we are.”
They carried on. The trail wound through thicker forest, the pines bending low with the weight of snow. Once, Lain stopped and crouched, her hand brushing the edge of a footprint half-buried in drift. Too large for her, too deep for a single traveler. The snow had hardened over it, but the edges still carried the shape of boots, heavy and patterned with nails.
“Six, maybe seven,” Mallow murmured behind her.
Lain looked back at him, eyes narrowing. “Who else would travel this far north?”
He didn’t answer immediately. “People looking for something.”
The rest of the day passed in uneasy silence. The forest seemed to watch them, every gust of wind a whisper through the branches. At dusk they made camp beside a frozen stream with a small fire. Lain sat close to the flames, rubbing warmth into her hands. The world felt too still after Vaelun, returning to winter after the briefest moment of spring. She thought of Atheri’s laughter, of the way the moss glowed green underhoof, of the hum of the wyrm below her skin.
Mallow watched her from across the fire. “You’re thinking of home,” he said.
She smiled faintly. “Already?”
“Doesn’t take long for a place like that to get into your bones.”
She nodded, staring into the flames. “It felt like… It’s hard to explain. Like I’d never been alive before. Like my life at the Dawn Spire was just a dream.”
“Ah,” he said, with a knowing nod. “It wasn’t just the Underserpent dreaming, then.”
Night settled deep and cold around them. Lain went to Mallow’s side, and he put his arms around her, kissing her cold cheek.
“I want to speak with you about something,” Lain said finally. Mallow nodded for her to continue. “Atheri told me that Kelthi only bear Kelthi children.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” She nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. “That means if we… if what we’ve done means…” She swallowed. Why was it so hard to talk about this? Atheri had made it seem easy.
“If I’ve had the good luck of making you with child,” Mallow said, placing a gloved hand on her middle, “then it will be Kelthi-born.”
“Yes.” She tried not to focus too hard on his phrasing – the good luck, as if having a child with her was something to be desired.
“Does that concern you?”
“Shouldn’t it?”
“You could give birth to a fox kit and I’d be grateful,” he said. “ I didn’t know the child could only be Kelthi – I wasn’t certain humans and Kelthi could have children, to be frank – and I’m not sure either of us are ready to raise a child. But bringing another Kelthi into the world gives me no pause. The only concern I have is how difficult it may be for them, and for you. If you choose to have a child, it makes no difference to me. I’ll be by your side regardless.”
Lain breathed a sigh of relief, leaning closer into his embrace.
“I take it your conversation with Atheri went well, then?” Mallow said. He chuckled. “You’ve only just met and here it seems you have your own set of parents.”
Lain laughed. “Is that what that feeling is? Being parented?”
“That’s the feeling of having a family.”
They held each other for a long while before preparing their bedrolls.
Somewhere in the dark, far off, the low call of a horn echoed through the valley. It rose once, distant but clear, then faded back into the wind.
Lain turned sharply. “Did you hear that?”
Mallow’s hand was already at his sword. “I did.”
They listened for a long time, but the sound didn’t come again.
“Sleep,” Mallow said finally. “We’ll move early.”
Lain curled close to him beneath the blanket, her ears still twitching toward the horizon. The wind carried no more horns that night, only the faint and lingering scent of smoke.