The night is long, long and miserable. The fire burns hot and steady — we have more wood than we could ever use — but even sitting close, only the front of me ever gets warm. My bare back stays cold no matter how I shift, the chill creeping in like it’s determined to claim whatever part of me the flames can’t reach.

  Both blankets are completely full of Direfangs. There isn’t a hand?span of space left on either one. The little ones who couldn’t squeeze in curl up against Charlie and Grizz, using the bears’ thick fur as their only shelter.

  And me? I sit alone on my rock, half?warm and half?frozen, watching the rise and fall of sleeping bodies.

  Shineah lies curled beside her mother, her long red hair wrapped around her neck and tucked into her shirt to keep warm. And right behind her — pressed far too close for my liking — one of the men, Garrun, a man in his early twenties, has tucked himself against her back, his arm draped over her side like he belongs there.

  Maybe he’s cold. Maybe he’s exhausted. Maybe this is just how the tribe sleeps.

  None of that stops the flash of heat that rises in my chest. It takes effort — real effort — not to stand up and kick him in the head.

  The cold digs deeper. My back aches with it. I hold out as long as I can, but eventually I relent and let my spiritual flame flicker to life along my back. The warmth spreads slowly, easing the bite of the night air. It helps… but keeping it burning for extended periods of time drains me. Every minute feels heavier than the last, like the flame is eating through my strength grain by grain.

  I drift in and out, never fully asleep, never fully awake, the night stretching on like it’s trying to break me.

  By the time the sky begins to brighten, the Direfangs start to stir. One by one, they sit up, rubbing their eyes, stretching stiff limbs, murmuring to each other in low, tired voices. The children cling to the warmth of the bears until the last possible moment.

  And the moment one of the blankets is finally free — finally empty — something in me snaps.

  I stand, walk over, and pull one of the blankets into my arms before anyone else says a word. No one argues. They’re too tired and too busy.

  I drop onto the ground beside the fire, wrap the blanket around myself, and lie down right there in the dirt. The warmth hits me like a wave, and exhaustion crashes over me so hard I barely manage to close my eyes before sleep takes me. For the first time since yesterday morning, I can finally rest.

  ***********************************

  By midday, the hunters return from another expedition, their shadows long and thin against the canyon walls. Dust clings to their legs. Sweat darkens their tunics. Garrun carries the catch — a red fox, limp and narrow?bodied, while a young teenage boy, Jorek, around 15 years old, proudly carries a porcupine.

  Shineah looks up, and her stomach twists with hunger. Then she glances over at me and nudges me to wake up. “The food is here.”

  Garrun drops the fox beside the fire with a grunt. “Not much out there today. But it’ll fill stomachs.”

  Shineah rises, brushing dirt from her palms. She forces a smile. “Thank you. Truly.”

  After roasting a leg, Garrun offers it to Shineah first — a token of goodwill, a nod to the old days.

  Shineah hesitates. Her eyes flick to me.

  I groggily sit up and blink as I inspect the kills.

  “I can’t,” I murmur, voice rough with sleep. “Fox is unclean for me, and so is porcupine.” I then close my eyes again and lie back down and go right back to sleep.

  Shineah swallows. Her hunger claws at her ribs. But she nods.

  “Then… I’ll wait until he eats.” The words are soft. But the silence that follows is sharp.

  The little blonde orphan girl, Lysa, beside Shineah pipes up immediately, “I’ll wait too!”

  Then the little curly-haired boy, Bren, nods. “Me too.”

  The two other orphan children echo them, clinging to Shineah’s sleeves.

  The hunters stare.

  Garrun’s eyes narrow. “We hunted all morning,” he says, somewhat offended, “and you won’t eat?”

  Shineah lifts her hands. “It’s not about your work. I’m trying to—”

  The older man, Varrik, cuts her off. “Trying to what? Be an orc like him?”

  Some of the Direfang women — Talla, Maelin, and Mara — are gathered near the fire preparing the porcupine. They exchange glances over the way the kids are refusing the food. “She’s been here two days, and the kids cling to her like she birthed them and want to be just like her in every way,” Maelin whispers.

  Mara snorts and shakes her head.

  The blonde woman, Maelin, narrows her eyes. “The kids think she’s some kind of dietysaint now because she and her orc saved us.”

  “It’s not right,” Mara whispers. “We raise them. We feed them. But she walks in, and suddenly she’s their mother.”

  Garrun drops the fox meat onto a flat stone with more force than necessary. “Our food isn’t good enough for you anymore,” he says. “That it, Shineah?”

  Shineah’s face flushes. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  But the damage is done.

  The children cling tighter.

  **********************

  I startle awake to the kick of Varrik’s foot. The hunters turn to me. Varrik shoves me awake with his foot. “Hey, orc, go feed your kids!”

  The women suppress smiles as they watch.

  I growl, and I pull the blanket tighter around me, not wanting to deal with it right now.

  Shineah steps closer to me, protective without realizing it.

  Varrik shoves me harder. “I told you, orc, your kids are hungry; it isn’t fair to make us suffer through their whining because you are too lazy to feed them!”

  I spring to my feet, fists blazing, ready to punch him in the mouth, but Shineah steps in front of me, fearing I will. She puts her hand on my chest. “Tormack, please don’t. You’ll only make it worse.”

  “Worse for him,” I say between grit teeth, the flames flaring hotter at the thought.

  Varrik swallows, trying to pretend he isn’t rattled. “Y?yeah,” he mutters, forcing his voice steady. “Listen to your wife.”

  But Varrik doesn’t step forward again. He stands down, not because he respects me, but because he finally understands what he’s poking.

  As I watch him back away, the flames on my fists begin to fade.

  Each of the kids look at me wide-eyed, their expressions a mix of nervousness and excitement. Bren’s mouth hangs open at the sight of the flames.

  “Don’t take it personally, my love,” Shineah whispers. “Varrik is usually a grump towards everyone.”

  I don’t buy it, but the way the kids look at me softens my heart. I let out a deep breath, and my tone softens. “You guys wanna go look for some food with me?” They smile and nod, some more shy than others. I whistle to Charlie and Grizz and pick my blanket up, draping it over my shoulders like a cape. I’m tempted to cut a hole in the middle with my axe and just wear my blanket like a poncho, but can’t bring myself to do it. This will do for now.

  Shineah takes my hand, and as we venture away from camp, a growing unease settles over the women preparing the porcupine.

  Charlie and Grizz lumber ahead, each carrying one of the kids on their backs. They move with purpose, their massive paws sinking into the soft earth with each step. Their noses continually sniffing the wind.

  We follow a narrow game trail that winds between boulders and scrub. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine. After a few minutes, Charlie stops abruptly and snorts, pawing at the ground. Grizz circles a patch of brush, huffing.

  “What is it?” Bren whispers.

  I crouch beside Charlie. “Food,” I say. “Probably roots.”

  Sure enough, when I dig a little, we find a good-sized patch of wild onions and a few thick, starchy tubers — the kind that roast well and keep you full. The kids cheer quietly, like we’ve uncovered treasure. A young boy named Tiv grabs one and holds it up triumphantly.

  We gather what we can, and Charlie leads us farther along the trail. This time, Grizz finds something better — a fallen log teeming with fat grubs and beetles. The kids wrinkle their noses, but the bears dig in happily, crunching and snorting.

  “Bears eat that?” Sera asks, wide?eyed.

  “Bears eat almost anything,” I say.

  She nods solemnly, as if this is sacred wisdom.

  We fill our arms with what we’ve found — roots, onions, a handful of late?season berries Charlie sniffs out beneath a thorny bush. It’s not a feast, but it’s clean food, and it’s enough.

  By the time we head back, the kids are laughing, their earlier fear forgotten. Shineah walks beside me, her hand still in mine, her thumb brushing my knuckles now and then like she’s trying to say something without words.

  But the moment we step into camp, everything changes. Everyone is standing. The air is tight with anticipation.

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  “‘Bout time you guys got back.” Rokan gestures to where three owls perch in the branches of a nearby tree — great, silent shapes with wide, unblinking eyes. Their feathers are ruffled from long flight.

  Shineah’s mother steps forward, her expression grave. “They’ve returned,” she says. “And they bring news.”

  The children fall silent. Shineah’s hand tightens around mine.

  Shineah’s mother lifts her chin toward the owls. “They found the missing wolves.”

  Her mother looks over the food we brought back. “Go ahead and cook your food now. The owls need to rest for a little bit before heading out, but we’ll be leaving soon.

  The moment the onions hit the heat of the campfire, the kids perk up, their eyes brightening at the smell. By the time they’re roasted through, they’re practically bouncing. The first bites are met with soft gasps and delighted hums — their sweet smoky flavor like candy, their hunger intensifying every smell and flavor.

  Even the adults can’t help but savor them, though the tension in the camp never fully lifts. Everyone eats quickly, not out of disinterest, but because the air feels tight, stretched thin by the news the owls brought.

  When the owls finally stir, feathers rustling, the entire tribe rises at once. We set out following their lead. Our pace is anxious and vigorous at first, driven by worry and hope in equal measure, but eventually our pace settles into something steadier.

  After a while, as I walk close to Shineah’s mom, a question begins to gnaw at me and finally slips out. “You’ve got to tell me something. You’re a nomad, and Shineah’s a devoted city girl… Her brothers in Oakhaven are half?brothers. What happened to Shineah’s Dad? Did you divorce him? Did he die? Is he still alive? Why do I know nothing about him?”

  Shineah’s mother glances back at me, taking in the question. She slows her pace so we walk side by side.

  “There is nothing mysterious about it, Tormack,” she says. “Shineah’s father was Rowan, a man of Oakhaven. He and I met when the Direfang traded along the borderlands. We shared a season together, and Shineah was born of that union.”

  Her tone is calm, almost conversational, as if she’s explaining the weather.

  “Shineah spent her early years with the Direfangs and me, but as she grew, she needed to know her father, and Rowan wanted to have her in his life. I trusted him with her, so eventually she moved to the city.”

  “So how do Kael and Finn fit into all this?” I ask, trying to put the pieces together.

  “Rowan had other children later — Kael and Finn. Their mother was a city woman. I am not their parent, but they share blood with Shineah.”

  “So, you and Rowan, that was just… temporary?” I try to keep my voice steady, but my dismay bleeds through. “A season, and then you both walked away?”

  Shineah’s mom gives me a curious look, not offended, just studying me. “It was the way of things, Tormack. Our paths crossed, then parted. Not all creatures mate for life, there was no shame in it.”

  I nod, hearing it, but the thought sits wrong in my chest. Marriage — real marriage — isn’t something you walk away from. Not where I come from. Not in my bones.

  Varrik, who’s been trudging a few paces behind us, chuckles loudly enough to startle one of the kids. “Hold on,” he mutters, stepping up beside me. “You’re bothered by that?” His eyes narrow at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Didn’t think orcs cared about that sort of thing.”

  I stop mid?stride. “About what sort of thing?”

  “Marriage,” he says bluntly. “Commitment. Staying with one mate. Thought your kind just… fought, bred, and moved on.”

  I meet Varrik’s eyes, letting him see the fire behind mine. “It might be that way with some orcs, but not me. I care — more than you think.”

  Varrik blinks, taken aback. For once, he has no grumble ready. He just nods and falls back into line.

  Shineah’s mother gives me a shrug. “Things are different in a tribe than they are in a city.” She nods to the kids. “In a tribe, the tribe raises the children. This makes marriage optional for raising children.”

  I shake my head. “Marriage is meant to last,” I say quietly. “Family is God’s plan of happiness, and marriage is foundational in that…”

  Varrik leans toward Maelin, not bothering to lower his voice.“Isn’t it cute,” he mutters, “when the scum of the earth thinks he’s better than everyone else just because he saved us.”

  Maelin doesn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth twitches.

  Shineah’s mother shoots Varrik a sharp look — not angry, just enough to shut him up. Then she turns back to me, her voice steady. “Pay him no mind. Some men cling to bitterness like it keeps them warm.”

  She squeezes my arm with approval. “You have a good heart, Tormack. Shineah chose well. Your convictions assure me that the two of you will have a strong future together.”

  She gives me a genuine smile, then moves ahead to join the trackers, leaving me with the warmth of her words.

  Her words settle warm in my chest, but the warmth doesn’t last. It drains away as quickly as it came, leaving a cold thought behind, as sharp as a thorn. I glance back at Shineah walking beside Charlie and Grizz with the children. *How does Shineah feel about all this? Does she intend to only have me for a season?*

  The forest grows darker as we press on, the owls gliding ahead in near?silence. Their pale shapes weave between the branches, guiding us with small dips and turns of their wings. The Direfangs follow without question — tired, but steadier now that their scouts have returned.

  The march stretches on. Feet drag. Shoulders sag. Even the children grow quiet, lulled by the rhythm of Charlie and Grizz’s heavy steps.

  By the time the sun begins to sink behind the trees, we find a water source, and Shineah’s mother raises a hand. “We stop here,” she calls. “We need rest. We’ll need strength for whatever waits for us ahead.”

  No one argues. The tribe settles into a clearing ringed with pines, their needles thick on the ground. The kids hop off Charlie and Grizz when the bears spot a fallen log nearby to claw at in search of grubs. People sink to their knees to get to work on getting a fire going.

  A few of the hunters prepare their slings to find something to eat. They smile as they look up to the owls. Now they have eyes in the sky. They can hunt much more efficiently now.

  The hunters follow the owls into the trees, moving with a renewed sharpness. It doesn’t take long before a distant shout echoes through the forest.

  A few minutes later, they return — Garrun and Varrik at the front, dragging a young deer between them. Its body is lean but healthy, its hide smooth and unblemished. They hold it up and give me a wary look.

  “That I can eat,” I say with a smile.

  The fire crackles to life. The smell of roasting venison fills the clearing. The Direfangs settle into a loose circle, exhaustion softening their edges. Children curl against the bears again. Shineah sits with them, her red hair catching the firelight like a flame of its own.

  I sit a little apart, a blanket around my shoulders, watching the tribe breathe, eat, and rest.

  To my relief, off to the side of the camp, I find some tall grass that is soft enough for me to flatten out and make a bed out of, or rather a kind of nest with the tall grass springing up around me. I can sleep tonight, and best of all, it is cozy enough that Shineah comes to my side without hesitation.

  For the first time since the march began, the night feels almost peaceful. Almost. I swallow hard, still thinking about my earlier conversation with Shineah’s mother. Having Shineah so close should feel comforting, but tonight it is like trying to sleep with a knot in my stomach.

  I lay awake for a while with Shineah lying quietly in the crook of my arm, her cheek against my bare chest. My heart pounds too rapidly to allow me to sleep. Eventually, I gently nudge her and whisper, "Shineah... I was talking to your Mom earlier about the tribe... The way she described things between her and your father... she described her time with him like some kind of fleeting whim, something seasonal. You aren't going to leave me like that... are you?"

  She rolls over to look me in the eyes under the red moonlight. The weariness etched on her face softens as she recognizes the worry beneath my words. She slides her hand up my chest, leaving a trail of sensation as she places her hand over my heart. It feels warm against my bare skin, “Tormack,” she murmurs, voice low but steady, “do you really think I would leave you?”

  Her fingers rise to my cheek, brushing the line of my jaw. “You saw me in Oakhaven. You saw who I am. I asked you to marry me because I needed you beside me, not because it was convenient.”

  A knot forms in my throat, catching in my words. “You… you barely know me…”

  Her hand on my cheek becomes firm. “I know enough to choose you,” she says with assurance. “And I’m learning the rest as we walk this path together.”

  She shifts closer, her forehead touching mine. Her breath warms my lips. Her hand slides to the back of my neck. For a moment, she hesitates, then she kisses me.

  It’s soft at first, then firmer when I respond. Her fingers curl in my hair. My hand finds her waist and draws her in, and she follows the pull without resistance. The world narrows to the warmth of her mouth, the way she kisses me like she’s been wanting this as much as I have.

  For a heartbeat, she doesn’t hold back.

  Then she does.

  She breaks the kiss with a shaky breath, her forehead still resting against mine. “Tormack…” Her voice trembles with restraint. “Not tonight.”

  The sound of someone shifting in their sleep snaps my awareness outward. The Direfangs are not that far away. Heat crawls up my neck as the moment crashes back into its setting.

  I nod toward the woods, but Shineah pauses. “The world is too dangerous right now. When we have a moment that’s ours — truly ours — I want to meet you there with a clear heart. Not like this. Not in fear. Not in exhaustion.”

  Her hand finds mine in the dark, weaving our fingers together.

  “I’m yours,” she breathes. “But not tonight.”

  “I’m not yours tonight?” I huff sarcastically, feeling the sting of it.

  “Tormack,” she says quietly, “that’s not what I meant.”

  I roll my eyes, not buying it. “Shineah… you grew up a nomad. Did your tribe only have kids in times of peace? Or all along the journey?”

  She pauses before answering. “My people have children when life allows, when the spirits bless us. On the move, or in peace. But why have children in a world falling apart when we can fight to make it safe first?”

  “It is an act of faith, Shineah. There is always something dark and scary in the world. People choose to have kids despite the darkness, having faith in a brighter tomorrow.” My voice drops. “I know our first time wasn’t… ideal. Am I that bad at it?”

  “No, Tormack, it isn’t like that.”

  I take a deep breath. My fingers rise up to my tusks at the edges of my mouth. “It seems we have so many kids now… Kids who will never have — do you even want to have kids who look like me?” I turn away.

  My words were soft, but something in them hits Shineah like a cold wind.

  Suddenly, that horrible night in Oakhaven is fresh in her mind — the courtyard, the sickly light, me on the ground at the brink of death.

  And through the stillness of the camp, Shineah hears my voice again, echoing like a phantom carried on the wind: *YOU THINK I AM AN ANIMAL, A MONSTER! I am alone, no one could ever love me…* The remembered cry slices through her chest, sharp and unwelcome, tightening her throat before she can stop it.

  Tears well in Shineah’s eyes. “Tormack, of course I want children with you!” She shakes her head, reaching for my hand. “These thoughts… they aren’t you. It is the Master’s poison. They’re everything Oakhaven threw at you. The Master’s influence is twisting itself into your heart again.” Her voice sharpens with urgency. “The Master feeds on doubt. He wants us second?guessing each other as we get closer to him. Don’t let that poison take root.”

  She leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “Rest now. We have a fight ahead of us. This means we are getting close.”

  My eyes narrow at her remark, utterly dismissing all of my feelings to the work of ‘The Master.’

  I spring up from my spot in the grass with a growl that rumbles through my throat, loud enough to cause a stir amongst those that are asleep. I take a seat by the fire.

  Shineah takes a deep breath and slowly follows me to the fire, placing her hand on my exposed back.

  I stare into the firelight, the knot in my chest tightening. “Then this really is like Oakhaven.”

  I say this, referring to me leaving Oakhaven when Shineah wanted to postpone our wedding, but when Shineah hears it, she only hears what she wants to hear and thinks I am seeing things her way, that all these worries of mine are really the work of the Master’s poison.

  She exhales shakily. “Yes,” she says, relief softening her voice. “This is just like Oakhaven.”

  She keeps going, unaware of the wound she’s just opened.

  She reaches for my hand, earnest, steady. “I want us to choose our future when we’re safe. When we’re clear. When nothing is pushing us or poisoning us.”

  She thinks she’s reassuring me. She thinks she’s explaining her caution. She thinks she’s protecting us. But all I hear is postponement.

  I let out a long sigh and go back to lie down. Shineah returns to resting her head in the crook of my shoulder. I feel her warmth, but the rift between us feels as cold as it has ever been.