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The night stretched on, and as we spoke of trivial things—of Earth’s constellations compared to those on my homeworld—our proximity seemed to shrink. She laughed at something I said, and her hand brushed mine as she gestured to the heavens through the cave entrance. The fleeting sent a jolt through me, electric and unnerving.
I moved slightly away under the pretense of tending to the fire that kept the damp at bay. Yet even as I did so, I couldn’t help but steal glances at her—the curve of her jaw illuminated by firelight, the way her lips moved when she spoke.
An ache in my chest came from a place untouched by any physical wound—a longing unfamiliar yet insistent.
She stood and walked toward the cave entrance, watching as lightning split the sky. The storm seemed to echo my internal tumult. She glanced back, eyes meeting mine in a wordless exchange.
At that moment, time slowed. She stepped closer; so close I could see flecks of green in her brown eyes—like leaves against bark. The space between us charged with an intensity that begged for contact.
She lifted her hand as if to touch my face, but stopped short. Her fingers hovered just shy of my fur-covered cheek before falling away.
"I should sleep," she whispered, going back to her seat.
“Yes,” I agreed, my voice rougher than intended. “Sleep.”
We settled into an uneasy quietness—a dance of shadows and half-glances as we each curled up on opposite sides of the fire. Sleep proved elusive for me; every time I closed my eyes, I saw hers reflecting the flames—a beacon in the night calling forth something within me that defied my feral nature.
I struggled with a torn between worlds—between the call of solitude and this new pull toward companionship. And as dawn approached with tentative light creeping into our refuge, whatever path lay ahead would be one we carved together—cautiously and irrevocably intertwined.
The sun clawed its way through the treetops, casting shards of light upon the forest floor as we made our way back. Claudia walked beside me, her steps matching mine with a rhythm that seemed to harmonize with the natural cadence of the wild. The previous night’s storm left the air crisp and the earth beneath our feet softened, bearing the fresh scent of pine and damp soil.
“You know,” Claudia started, her voice cutting through the morning’s quiet, “I’ve been wondering about Amaroks... If you all live alone, how are you supposed to carry on? Don’t you have mates?”
Her question hung in the air like a mist that wouldn’t settle. My kind rarely discussed it, yet Claudia probed into the heart of amarok existence.
“In our culture,” I began, my voice steady despite the turmoil her question stirred within me, “mates resonate with one another. It’s more than just a meeting of minds; it’s a synchronization of hearts. When two amaroks meet and their very beings harmonize... that is how we know.”
We walked in silence for a few moments as she digested my words. The path twisted ahead, roots weaving patterns like ancient runes on the ground.
“And now?” she asked, her gaze fixed on a fern unfurling beside the trail. “With all this isolation?”
A sigh escaped me before I could rein it in. “Now, it is rare,” I admitted. “The solitude has become so ingrained in us that finding another... it’s like searching for a particular star in an ever-expanding universe.”
She glanced at me then, curiosity etched into her features. “Have you ever... imprinted on a female from another species? Since you’re out here alone?”
The question caught me off guard; my pulse quickened as though prey suddenly darted into view. Imprinting remained sacred among my kind—something that transcended physical form or species. Amaroks did not imprint on others not of amarok blood.
I looked at Claudia, at her inquisitive brown eyes framed by tendrils of hair that escaped her braid. In that moment, I felt the synchronization of my heart upon meeting her—a beat for beat echo that resonated deep within my chest.
The admission hovered on the tip of my tongue; an invisible force seemed to push it forward, urging me to reveal this truth between us. But something held me back—a fear perhaps, or maybe an instinctual caution not to cross lines drawn by eons of tradition.
“No,” I lied smoothly, looking away from her searching gaze to where the forest canopy closed above us like a vaulted ceiling. “Imprinting across species is not something we experience.”
Claudia nodded slowly, accepting my answer as we continued our trek through the woods.
I felt her eyes on me several times as we walked, but kept my gaze fixed ahead. The desire to confess warred with self-preservation—an internal battle as old as time itself.
We reached a clearing where sunlight bathed us in warmth—a brief reprieve from the shaded path we traveled. There, she paused and turned to face me fully.
“Zunnik,” she whispered, reaching out to rest her hand lightly against my arm. “Thank you for sharing your world with me.”
I met her touch with a subtle incline of my head—a gesture fraught with unspoken emotion.
“Thank you for being willing to see it,” I replied.
And with those words hanging between us like leaves upon the wind, we continued on toward what remained unsaid—the surrounding silence filled with the chorus of life and a secret harmony only one of us could hear.
7
