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“His name is Darro.”
Moth.
He’s named after a moth.
“Darro will be welcomed,” Tral said gently. “He will want for nothing.”
My shoulders slouched, grateful for his assurance. “I appreciate all that you’ve done, Tral, and I will uphold my side of the bargain, but I need to be with—”
“Solin.” Tral interrupted me, his eyes growing stern. “You need to be with Solin.” He looked at where Darro had been taken. “I’ve given you my word that Darro will be taken care of while you’re in the flames. Please don’t make me ask again.”
His voice cracked, revealing just how worried he truly was. It ate at him—glittering in his dark eyes with more than just respect but deep love.
Tiptu pressed against Tral’s side, saying quietly. “Solin is more than just our Spirit Master, Girl. He’s Tral’s brother. So you can understand why this is urgent.”
I gasped, glancing at Niya and Hyath, who merely pursed their lips. The revelation wasn’t new to them.
“Solin was firstborn and birthed with the gift.” Tral sniffed back his grief. “I was not. Our parents always knew he was destined to be our spiritual leader, so that left me to rule. I was the second son, but the clan accepted my reign. Together, Solin and I have provided abundance to our people.” He wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, returning the past to where it belonged. “He entered that trance to help you. Please return to it to help him.”
Natim made a forlorn noise, reaching up to lick my chin. The gentle nudge of his spirit made guilt swarm.
Tral was right.
Solin had returned a forgotten piece of myself.
The least I could do was bring him home.
Repositioning Natim, I pushed him into Niya’s embrace.
Her shocked gaze met mine.
“Feed him,” I commanded softly. “I don’t know with what, but he’s hungry. He’s not weaned yet and has been surviving on wolf’s milk but will nibble on grass.” Tears prickled my eyes with fear that the fawn might not make it.
Niya glanced at Hyath as her elegant hand stroked Natim’s spotted flank. “We’ll see if anyone can suggest something. A warm mashed grain perhaps—”
“Tiptu will give him a cup of milk,” Tral said in a tone that brooked no argument. His wife flinched as if shocked her mate, who had left with spears and men and returned with a stranger, a deer, and a wolf, could suddenly make such demands. “He will need to be weaned sooner than normal, but while he gets used to grain, our son, Bon, will share his mother’s milk.”
I tried to catch Tiptu’s gaze to see if she agreed, but she kept her eyes locked on her husband, questions burning hotly in their brown depths.
Tral ignored Tiptu’s intensity, glancing at Niya and Hyath. “You should also know, your friend is no longer called Girl. She has a name.” He half smiled. “It’s Runa. Solin was right about her, and as soon as he awakens, everyone will know what he knows.”
Tiptu didn’t speak for the longest moment, her gaze diving into mine before she looked at her mate and asked a single question that carried the weight of a thousand more. “What happened tonight, Tral?”
The chief smiled sadly and just shook his head. “Later, my flame. I will tell you everything later. For now...” He turned to face me, his hands landing on my shoulders. “You have my word that your fawn, wolf, and foreigner will be safe. Please, go to Solin.”
Looking past Tral to the milling people of Nhil, to the low burn of embers and smoke from the ever-blazing central fire, and the swiftly day-brightening sky, I sucked in courage I didn’t have and spun on my heel.
No one followed me as I stepped toward Solin’s lupic with a lynx at my heels.
No one stopped me as I ducked into the entrance, waited for the cat to slip inside with me, then tugged the bison hide tightly together.
And no one offered me guidance as I sewed the two flaps together, just like Solin had, all while two Nhil hunters took up sentry outside.
* * * * *
I sat frozen beside Solin.
I’d feared he’d look like a corpse.
That his skin would’ve tightened and his body shrunken without food or water.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
His face was slack with peace and rest, his arms sprawled to the side with bison fur cradling his back. His legs were still crossed in the exact way we’d sat as we’d chanted together, his flesh vibrant and healthy as if he’d just closed his eyes for a few moments, not a few days.
My shoulders slouched as I clasped my hands in my lap. The soft deerskin I wore tingled faintly, pulsing with a lifeforce that ought to have left long ago. I stiffened as the sense faded, overshadowed by the fire and its ever-present smoky crackle.
