“Who are you talking to?”
“Myself.” I smooth my face out. “Just mumbling.”
He holds me in that stare, his nostrils working. I know he doesn’t believe a word of it. He shakes his head and shifts the box higher on his shoulder. “A couple more, and we’re taking you home. You need to rest.” He goes back inside.
He’s right. You do need to rest.
I hiss at the empty air. My lion hisses right along with me, her tail lashing.
The Glen’s coming along nicely.His voice warms, proud and fighting not to show it.I can’t wait for you to see it.Then it dips, careful now.But I’m afraid, Mara. Are you sure you’re willing to give up Wintermoon for a life with me?
“YES.” It tears out of me loud enough to startle a bird off the rail. I slap a hand over my mouth.
Aaron laughs, the sound rolling all the way through my head. I hate how much I love it.
Ezra comes back out with a pitcher and a glass, his eyebrows up. I wave off the glass and take the whole pitcher instead, gulping straight from the lip of it while my mate cackles.
I watch you every day,he says.
I know he does, and I can feel him right there with me. I don’t say it, not with Ezra standing right over me, but Aaron hears it anyway, and his quiet hum answers me.
I drink until the pitcher’s half gone and hand it back. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to walk a little.” I push up out of the chair. “Need to move my legs before they load me onto that wagon like a sack of grain.”
Ezra nods and watches me go down the steps.
Ezra’s grown into a fine man,Aaron says, soft.They all have.
“You’re better,” I tell him. I keep walking, knowing I won’t get far before my father comes to fetch me.
The community lands stretch out around me. I follow the worn path past the cabins. “I hate this. Waiting on you.”
The Glen needs a lot of work, baby.
“What about your father?” The question’s been sitting heavy in me for weeks. “Eric.”
He’s been dealt with.There’s a hardness under it I’ve never heard him aim at me before.You never have to worry about him again. I promise you that.
I smile down at the dirt. I don’t ask him for more than that.
“And Henry?”
I don’t know yet.
When I don’t answer, he fills the silence himself.You haven’t gone to see my mother. My sisters. Why not?
I stop walking. “It’s hard.” My hand curls into a fist at my side. “I look at them and all I see is you. And it hurts, Aaron. It hurts to be near them and not near you.”
Alright.His voice comes in close at my ear.Alright, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
“I hate this separation.” The path goes blurry. “Can’t I just come now?”
We agreed on six months.
“Aaron—“
I won’t have you living in squalor.His voice goes immovable.The Glen needs its final touches, and then it’s yours. Ours. Not a day before it’s ready for you.
