I'm scraping the bottom of the pot, checking if there's enough for the ones who haven't come yet—there isn't, I'll need to stretch the grain tomorrow, maybe start the porridge earlier—when I see him.
Not at the fire. Not near the food. At the far edge of the clearing, where the trees start and the last dwelling sits apart from the others. Keer. On the ground.
With a child.
The kid is maybe eight, nine. Sitting in the dirt with his knees pulled up and his face buried in them. Shaking hard enough I can see it from here.
Keer is beside him. Not touching. Not talking. Just sitting. His back against the wall of the dwelling, one knee drawn up, hands loose at his sides. Close enough that the kid could reach for him. Far enough that there's no pressure to.
I stop stirring.
The boy's shoulders heave. A ragged sound carries across the clearing—not a word. Just air. One of the older women near the fire glances over. Looks away. Deliberate. Giving them space.
Keer doesn't move.
He doesn't lean in. Doesn't put a hand on the kid's back. Doesn't say whatever Alpha thing an Alpha is supposed to say to make it better.
I'm standing at the fire with a ladle in my hand and the bottom of the pot is burning. He's just sitting there.
The boy's breathing changes. Still ragged. But the spaces between the sobs are getting longer. He unfolds, just a fraction. His head lifts. He looks at Keer.
Keer says something. Low. I can't hear it. Two words, maybe three.
My hand tightens on the ladle.
The kid nods. Wipes his face with the back of his hand. Gets up. Walks toward the central fire. Slow, embarrassed, butwalking.
Keer stays.
He doesn't watch the kid go. Just stays sitting, back against the wall, looking at the trees. Alone.
"You're burning the stew."
I jerk back. Dara, beside me.
"What? No I'm—" I look at the pot. "Okay. Yes. That's burning."
I pull it off the heat. Scrape the bottom. Salvageable. Mostly.
"The kid. What happened?"
Dara follows my gaze. "Soren. He's nine. Shifts are bad for him."
"Bad how?"
"Painful. His body fights it. Happens with some of the young ones." She takes the ladle from me and starts transferring what's left into a serving bowl. "Tomorrow's the new moon. He knows what's coming."
"And Keer—"
"Sits with him. Before every new moon. Doesn't say much. Just sits."
My throat goes tight. "Does anyone else know that?"
"The pack knows. Nobody talks about it." She sets the empty pot aside. "He'd hate it if they did."
She walks away.
Every new moon. He does this every new moon. Just—sits there. Doesn't fix it. The Alpha sits in the dirt with a scared kid and doesn't—
