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I kiss him instead.

He shifts onto his side, gathering me closer with his free arm. A loose leaf catches between our mouths. I pull it away and try again. This time he laughs before I do.

“You’re shedding on me.”

“You asked.”

“I’m very pleased with the result.”

His face is still bare. In daylight the seams beside his mouth look softer, the green grain warmer where my thumb passes over it. He turns to kiss my fingers. I feel his pleasure through the bond, a quiet warmth that makes me want to stay exactly where I am.

Then my stomach growls.

Daurek looks down between us.

“That was very clear.”

“I missed dinner.”

“So did I.”

“You were distracting me.”

“I remember.”

He kisses me again, and I consider how long a person can reasonably wait for breakfast. When he draws back, the flowers above us have opened toward the light.

I reach for my coat. It is caught beneath his hip.

“I’ll need you to move.”

He does, though he makes an unhelpful attempt to bring me with him. I disentangle myself and sit up laughing, with my hair in my face and moss stuck to one heel. There is no audience to impress here. I can look exactly as happy and badly combed as I feel.

My clothes wait on the broad dry root. I pull on my shift, then the green dress. Daurek fastens the back while I work the worst knots out of my braid. His fingers are much more patient with the little buttons than mine would be.

“You could leave the last one,” I say.

“Then I would spend breakfast looking at it.”

“And that would be different from yesterday?”

He rests his forehead briefly against the back of my head.

I like making him do that. I like knowing he wants to laugh and kiss me and take the dress off again, even while he finishes fastening it.

When I have my stockings and boots on, I put the papers safely beneath the folded grey dress in my bag. Daurek draws fresh leaves over his hips. A little growth returns to his shoulders, but his face remains open to me.

At the entrance, he offers to carry the bag.

I give it to him.

The strap that cut into my shoulder yesterday hangs easily from two of his fingers. I take his other hand, and we walk back to the Heartwood.

Reivaka has kept a pot of tea warm at the end of the breakfast table.

“There you are,” she says. “The keeper said to expect you.”

Ziku turns with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. His gaze travels from Daurek’s face to our joined hands. For once, nothing comes out of his mouth.