Theea
they may say you're too small, you're too young
to do it all, but you're a giant on the inside
to do it all, but you're a giant on the inside
Relief hits me so fast it’s almost dizzying. My little smile jumps into a grin when the cub blinks up at me with those ridiculous paws—gods, they’re huge. I sniff, blink back the tears I almost let slip, and keep myself upright as he shifts the bundle of fluff between us. I reach properly this time, sinking my fingers into its thick, cloud-soft pelt.
When Damien settles beside me, I don’t hesitate—I lean my shoulder into his. Warm. Solid. The kind of steady that makes the cave feel a fraction less sharp around the edges.
The cub clambers into my lap in a clumsy tumble, and I can’t help the soft huff of a laugh that escapes me. I’m exhausted and hurting and full of too many unhappy, unsure things, but this little thing is warm and alive and gently mouthing at my fingers like I might be a treat. I card my hand through its fur again, slow and soothing.
He says he’s seen enough blood, and I look up at him. The firelight turns his eyes into something almost gentle. I give him a small smile and let my voice carry just enough to live in the space between us. “Me too.”
A shiver snakes through me. I frown at him, then gingerly unwrap the blanket, opening my arm and draping half over his shoulder as I scoot closer. No ceremony, no second thought—just practicality with a heartbeat. “We’ll both be warmer this way,” I murmur, settling the cub so it’s partly sprawled across both of us like a living hand-warmer.
For a few quiet breaths, I just love on the baby snow leopard, letting it teeth gently at my fingers while I stroke the fur between its ears. Then I tilt my head, looking at Damien from under my lashes, and ask something that’s small but close, meant to tug him a little further from worry.
“Who taught you to whittle?” I pause, thumb rubbing the cub’s tiny jaw. “Or did you teach yourself? My dad taught me a little bit.”
When Damien settles beside me, I don’t hesitate—I lean my shoulder into his. Warm. Solid. The kind of steady that makes the cave feel a fraction less sharp around the edges.
The cub clambers into my lap in a clumsy tumble, and I can’t help the soft huff of a laugh that escapes me. I’m exhausted and hurting and full of too many unhappy, unsure things, but this little thing is warm and alive and gently mouthing at my fingers like I might be a treat. I card my hand through its fur again, slow and soothing.
He says he’s seen enough blood, and I look up at him. The firelight turns his eyes into something almost gentle. I give him a small smile and let my voice carry just enough to live in the space between us. “Me too.”
A shiver snakes through me. I frown at him, then gingerly unwrap the blanket, opening my arm and draping half over his shoulder as I scoot closer. No ceremony, no second thought—just practicality with a heartbeat. “We’ll both be warmer this way,” I murmur, settling the cub so it’s partly sprawled across both of us like a living hand-warmer.
For a few quiet breaths, I just love on the baby snow leopard, letting it teeth gently at my fingers while I stroke the fur between its ears. Then I tilt my head, looking at Damien from under my lashes, and ask something that’s small but close, meant to tug him a little further from worry.
“Who taught you to whittle?” I pause, thumb rubbing the cub’s tiny jaw. “Or did you teach yourself? My dad taught me a little bit.”
