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“Like reaching the peak of a mountain,” I replied, turning to meet his gaze. “It’s exhilarating, but knowing there’s still the journey back down.”
We shared a knowing smile before I prepared the files for transmission. I received a supply, and I sent off my manuscript. A drone could bridge the gap between our story and the civilized, distant world.
Days later, as we watched the drone disappear into the horizon with my book aboard, I clutched at my stomach—a new sensation took root there. At first, I attributed it to nerves about my book entering unknown hands. But as days turned into weeks and my body whispered secrets through subtle changes, I knew it was something more.
I remember staring at the test strip in my hand as two pink lines boldly declared their presence. The reality took time to settle in, like dew gently kissing morning leaves. When I finally found my voice and shared the news with Zunnik, his reaction was a tapestry of emotions—joy woven with awe and a thread of fear that he masked quickly.
His hand trembled as he placed it on my still-flat abdomen. “We’re going to be parents,” he murmured, wonder lacing every syllable.
I nodded, my heart swelling with an affection so profound it threatened to spill from my eyes. “We are.”
Overwhelmed by emotion, Zunnik swept me into his arms and spun me around in an impromptu dance beneath the canvas of evergreens. Our laughter mingled with the rustling leaves around us.
As my pregnancy progressed normally—each doctor’s visit confirming that despite our biological differences, our child was growing strong and healthy—our cabin too flourished under Zunnik’s skilled hands. It became not just a structure of wood and glass, but a sanctuary filled with love and anticipation.
I watched Zunnik from where I sat on our porch steps, sketching out plans for an addition—a room for our child—his excitement manifesting in fervent strokes against the paper. He caught me looking and flashing a grin before returning to his task.
The future spread out before us like an unwritten chapter—one that promised sleepless nights and lullabies sung in two languages; lessons taught with gentle hands and hearts open wide enough to encompass two worlds; challenges faced together with strength drawn from each other.
We stood side by side as autumn’s palette bled into winter’s starkness—the world transforming just as we were. Our story continued to unfold in whispered conversations by firelight and quiet moments spent marveling at the life we were about to bring forth together.
And as I laid down each night beside Zunnik in our bed—the very heart of our home—I couldn’t help but think that no matter how far this journey would take us or what trials lay ahead, we already created something beautiful, a love that transcended species and gave birth to hope.
Labor arrived as a thief in the night, stealing my breath with its sudden grip. The contractions built upon each other like the rising tide, relentless and powerful. Zunnik was my rock, his presence a steady force as each wave threatened to pull me under.
When our daughter entered the world, she came with a cry that pierced the silence of the forest, announcing her arrival to all who dwelled within. She was perfection cradled in my arms, a blend of her father’s strength and my tenacity. We named her Rudie Faelyn Collins—a tribute to the fusion of our lives and the fresh path we forged together.
Rudie’s eyes held the wild beauty of Zunnik’s gaze, yet there was something undeniably human in their depths. Her tiny fingers grasped at life with a fierce determination that made my heart swell with pride.
The days following Rudie’s birth were a blur of emotions—exhaustion battling with an all-consuming love. I watched Zunnik transform before my eyes, his large hands cradling our daughter with a gentleness that belied his formidable appearance. His whispers to her spoke of the forests and stars, weaving tales of her heritage that spanned galaxies and green canopies.
Our cabin became a haven filled with the sounds of Rudie’s coos and gurgles. Walls echoed, life thrived, warmth radiated from our creation.
I found solace in stolen moments at my desk, where I penned tales inspired by motherhood and the raw beauty of our existence. The words flowed from me like water from a mountain spring—pure and unfettered.
Zunnik continued to provide for us, his hunting skills ensuring that our table never lacked nourishment. His graceful movement in the forest was innate. He would return with his bounty, his pride in his role as provider, clear in his every step.
As Rudie grew, so too did her curiosity. Her laughter filled our home as she discovered the surrounding wonders—a chipmunk gathering acorns, the dance of fireflies at dusk.
Rudie’s first steps were hesitant, her tiny feet pressing into the soft earth as Zunnik and I watched with bated breath. She wobbled, a look of intense concentration etched on her cherubic face, then with a squeal of triumph, she lunged forward into my waiting arms.
“There you go, my little explorer,” I whispered, sweeping her up into an embrace that felt like it could protect her from the world’s edges.
Zunnik beamed with pride, his eyes alight with the same fierce love that became the pulse of our home. “She’ll be running through these woods before we know it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
We spent our days introducing Rudie to the world we built—a sanctuary where human and Amarok life intertwined seamlessly. She learned to imitate bird calls and find amusement in squirrel antics. Her daily delight in discovery reminded us why we chose this life.
One afternoon, as Rudie napped peacefully in her crib crafted from branches and love, I stepped outside to gather my thoughts and watch the clouds drift lazily overhead. The air was crisp, a herald of the changing seasons, and it carried with it the scent of pine and earth—a fragrance that became as familiar as my heartbeat.
Footsteps approached from behind. I turned to find Zunnik, hands concealed, suggesting he hid something.
“What are you up to?” I asked with a playful tilt of my head.
He grinned, revealing what he held—a bouquet of wildflowers, each bloom handpicked to form a vibrant mosaic of color. “For you,” he said simply.
My heart swelled as I accepted the gift. “They’re beautiful,” I murmured, inhaling their delicate scent.
Zunnik watched me for a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been thinking,” he began hesitantly. “Rudie is growing so fast. Soon she’ll need more than just us. Friends, knowledge of both her worlds.”
