She sighs, and the sound is so right, so perfect, that I almost close my eyes. Consider letting myself rest.
But I do not. I cannot.
Instead, I will keep watch as I did for the weeks I tracked her through the mountains followed by the long cold days we were separated. Though they were few, they were some of the greyest of my existence. I will protect her as I protect these mountains. I will fulfill my vow, sealed with my blood and sworn to the earth.
I listen to the steady beat of her heart, feel the slow rise and fall of her breath. I memorize the weight of her against me, the way she fits so easily, so naturally, in my arms. Every curve is a perfect counterpoint to my body, as if she were carved from my very flesh.
I think about how much I do not want her to leave, but I know she will. That she must. But just for tonight, I can pretend that there is a world in which she is mine. A life where she can be with me here in this cave, cut off from the world and all of its problems. Just two mates with one heart beating between them.
I let my eyes slip shut, just for a moment, imagining what forever would look like for a Migoi and a human.
Screams of terror have me leaping from the bed to land in a defensive crouch between my Winter Star and whatever danger has come for her. My body instinctively reverts to my inner predator, my muscles bunching and flexing as my thick fur extends to its full length, useful for both weather and protection from injury.
My claws extend, and I bare my teeth in a feral snarl ready to kill. I sniff the air, scanning the surroundings for the would-be attacker. But I don’t see or smell anything outside of the cave and her scent, the promise of Spring.
A small giggle has me whipping my head around to catch atrace of fear spring into her eyes at my imposing facade. I retract my fur and sheath my claws, thankful for her sheepish smile that quickly replaces it as she blinks up at me from the furs.
“I’m sorry, I was dreaming of the avalanche. I didn’t mean to alarm you,” she says in a small voice.
I gather her up in my arms, this small, soft, precious thing.
“Tell me what you were dreaming,” I murmur into her riotous curls that glow like the sunset in the light of the fire. She needs to speak the thoughts out of her mind where I can shred them into oblivion.
Holding her close, I trace the tips of my retracted claws up and down her spine, as she haltingly tells me of her dream.
“I'm in the dark, trapped and running out of oxygen. Powerless to save myself, knowing I’m going to die. I feel my body going numb, my strength giving out, and I have to decide whether to surrender to the cold and the dark, or fight.”
I let the silence breathe, honoring her words, her shared vulnerability. My heart breaks at the thought of the nightmare that drug her back beneath the crushing snow and ice, where she was suffocating, where she was dying.
“But you did fight, that’s how I found you. I heard you singing something about, ‘Back that ass up.’ Badly, I might add,” I say to soften my retort.
She gives a soft laugh, but then sobers as she says, “If you hadn’t saved me, I would’ve died.”
I pull back and take her shoulders in a gentle grip, forcing her to meet my eyes. Fear of a world without her in it sharpens my tone. With a slight shake, I declare, “No. You would never give up. You are a fighter.”
She hangs her head, shoulders slumping in defeat as she admits, “I don’t know. I was giving up. And honestly, I don’t know what I have left to fight for. I have no one to go home to and without my research, not only do I have no purpose, but I also have no chance.”
No purpose? Nothing to fight for? I cannot, will not tolerate this belief, these careless words. She is everything. The sun that gives warmth to the world, the moon of creation. I lift her chin with a firm grasp, infusing my voice with the depths of my devotion and say, “You. You haveyouto fight for.”
She looks away as if she can’t bear to hear my words. As if she doesn’t believe in herself even half as much as I do, and says, “I don’t know. Everything just feels so out of my control.”
And then, in a voice so small I can barely hear it even with my acute senses, she says, “I’m lost.”
My jaw clenches. No. She does not get to doubt herself. Not when she is still here, still breathing, still mine. I understand all too well what it means to have no control. And what it means to be lost. So lost, you don’t recognize your own soul.
I need to help her piece herself back together. I need to show her what I know to be as true as the rise of the sun each morning and the moon each night. As true as the Spring that inevitably breaks the long cold grey of winter. This is not something I can convince her of with words but something that she must learn for herself. I can only guide her.
“Let me show you that you are still worth fighting for,” I say.
She glances at me and away again, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, but my words have caught her attention. I give her time to decide; she must choose this for herself. I let the heavy beats of my heart pass the time. Trusting her in the silence.
“Okay,” she whispers, hesitant and unsure.
I wait, mouth closed but heart on my sleeve. I let her see the emotions blazing behind my eyes. I want to force her to choose this path through my will alone. But choose she must.
She clears her throat and with a decisive nod, repeats louder, “Okay. Help me see what you see.”
Relief crashes over me. I knew she was strong. A warrior. Butfor this to work, I need more than her strength. I meet her gaze, steady and unyielding. “I need you to trust me. Completely.”
