where the tracks end

Theea

they may say you're too small, you're too young
to do it all, but you're a giant on the inside

I can hear the softness of his laugh through his chest, and I smirk a little, eyes still shut as he matches my stubborn streak with one of his own. I don’t protest; I know there will be plenty of time for that tomorrow.

I don’t flinch at the touch to my ribs, trusting he knows when and how to touch, how not to hurt. I take a slow, deep breath, soothed by the way he plays with my hair, everything becoming soft and warm around the edges. Even the pain is something I can drift with, like it, on its own, is wanting to pull me under.

I think of him at the shrine, speaking with Frey, and quietly I offer, "I'll go with you, if you don't want to go alone. But I understand if you do." I had been afraid to go alone when it was me, and my mom had come with me. But things had been different then. I’m not a child and neither is he—I’d respect his desire to stand on his own before the gods.

Even if I find myself frightened, still.

Then he moves, so carefully it doesn’t even disturb the stitches. A strong arm wraps over my shoulders, and my eyes flutter open for a beat, staring upwards as my arm slips around his ribs, over his back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And then "Don't go thinking you're not wanted."

My breath catches in my throat, and an unexpected lump rises. I’m not sure he even realizes I’m looking at him, watching his expression. I don’t know if that makes it mean more or not, but somehow it feels like it does—like he’s not just saying it for my benefit, but because it needs to be said.

I look away from him, back down, and I quickly blink back the way my eyes fill. I don’t know why that hit me so hard.

"You're not getting rid of me, Theea."

My eyes shut again as I listen to his heartbeat, feel Aria’s kneading as she settles again. I let the silence stretch, let myself get ahold of whatever feeling struck like a great, white-capped wave crashing in. I let that tide settle, let the surf smooth the sand. Sleep tugs me down. Down. Down.

But before I go under, I murmur, "Good."

Damien

and every demon wants his pound of flesh
but i like to keep some things to myself

He felt her settle against him. The cave was quiet, except for the cub kneading at the blanket, the crackle of the fire, and the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

“Good,” he murmured back, low and rough. His fingers traced the line of her hair once more before finally letting them rest. The antiseptic had stung, the stitches burned a little in the shift of the night, but she had endured. That was all that mattered. That, and the cub.

The thought of Frey lingered at the edges of his mind. Aria was his responsibility, and he had his own way of seeing things done. But he also knew the world didn’t wait. Some favors had to be called in; some doors couldn’t be opened alone. He didn’t speak it aloud. Not tonight. Tonight he let the quiet do the talking, let her trust fill the space between them.

When sleep tugged at him, he yielded in small pieces. Not all of it; he would always leave a margin, a thread of awareness to catch the fire, to listen for the world pressing closer with the dawn. He shifted again, careful not to disturb her, letting the cub curl against him. A few sparks drifted skyward from the fire. Morning would bring people: mushers, hunters, the inevitable talk of the man-eater on the prowl. They could help him, her, Aria. They might even carry what needed carrying. He’d see to it the leopard's pelt came back with him, though whether by his hands or by convincing a strong sled team to haul it, that would remain to be seen.

He let the weight of her lean, the warmth of the small life pressed near, and the quiet of the cave lull him. Not peace. Not quite. But close enough. Close enough to let his mind rest for a while. His eyes closed.

And through the dim, drifting smoke and the soft breaths around him, he thought something he didn’t speak, not even to the dark: whatever storms were coming, whatever gods or snow or men might try to shove him off course, he wouldn’t leave this corner of the world without her.

Sleep took him like a tide pulling out to sea, light-footed and cautious, but he let it, for now. Aria murmured once more, settling, kneading, a heartbeat against his chest. He drifted with her, the last thoughts before the fire died low, before the wind whispered over frozen hills, already awake and testing the world.

[FIN]