Page 170 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

“Not into it. We’re simply passing through.” He nodded toward the brush insistently. “Trust me.”

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes in theatrical suspicion but followed him through. Her hoofbeats crunched softly over the fallen leaves behind him. The further they went, the more he feared he’d dreamed the whole thing up. But then birdsong grew louder. They were close.

When the underbrush opened into the clearing, he stepped aside to watch her. The birds answered, their song swelling as if they’d been waiting for her to arrive.

She let out a small, startled breath. He watched her take it in. Her eyes tracked the birds as they dipped and swept overhead, their wings flashing like bright coins scattered through the trees. A small, delighted laugh escaped her, and she caught his eye. All the concern had been pushed aside, and in its place was pure, open joy.

Something stuttered in his chest—an itch of the truth he’d been pushing aside for days. Maybe it was the birdsong, or the way the smile broke across her face like she’d stepped into a place she belonged. Or maybe it was simple relief that she loved it as much as he thought she would.

“Orzen…this is—” Wren laughed, light and breathless, the freest she’d been in days. “You were right. I’m glad we didn’t miss this.” She stepped forward slowly, as though crossing a threshold into something sacred.

Birds swooped closer to inspect her, perching on branches and tilting their bright eyes down at her before darting away in a flurry of feathers. The mother emberkit lifted her head from her patch of sunlight, yawned wide enough for little sparks to pop from her jaws, and blinked coal-dark eyes at Wren.

“Oh…” Wren knelt in the grass, setting the basket beside her, awe softening every line of her face. She glanced back at him like he’d handed her an unexpected blessing, and the tightness sharpened in his chest.

“Did you know they were here?” she whispered.

“She brought me here,” he said, nodding toward the cooling pit. “Needed help starting her fire. For her kits.”

“Ah. You must be hungry if you’re not sparking well. I think I still have some left…”

Wren turned back to the fox and rummaged through a pocket on her belt. Her hand emerged with a dusty lump of coal clutched between her fingers. She held out her palm.

The emberkit sniffed delicately, then plucked the coal from her hand with careful teeth and sat back to crunch it. Embers glowed along her fur with each bite.

Dusting her fingers, Wren asked in a soft voice, “You really lit their den fire? With your weaving?”

“Uh…sort of. She nipped at me until I did.” Orzen rubbed the back of his neck. “Not sure I could do it again without that level of…motivation,” he admitted. “But I didn’t burn the Glade down, so it’s an improvement.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she murmured. “After last night, what you did here is huge.” She nodded like a brilliant plan had come to mind. “How about this? I’ll be proud of you until you’re able to be proud of yourself.”

His shoulders eased, words dying in his throat. He simply nodded, sitting in the grass.

She lowered herself across from him and leaned back, hands splayed in the grass, tilting her face into the early sunlight. He marveled at the way her eyes sparkled like amber in the morning light. They slipped shut, and for a moment, she was peaceful in a way that was painful to witness.

It was a fragile, beautiful thing. He found himself holding his breath, afraid he might disrupt it with a single movement. He’d been careful to keep a little distance. Not because he wanted it—gods it was the last thing he wanted. He simply didn’t trust himself not to reach for her. The worst thing he could do was move too quickly and scare her off.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” she said quietly.

“I wasn’t sure how to thank you,” he managed. “Thought this might do.” He uncovered the pastries, mostly to keep his hands busy. “And I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have left like that…not after what I made you see.”

Her eyes blinked open. “You didn’t have to share it with me at all. I’m honored you did.” She grabbed one of the massive scones and took a small bite, chewing in thoughtful silence until she said, “Your father was a good man. I think he’d be proud of who you are, too.”

It knocked the air right out of him. He stuffed a large bite of pastry into his mouth to cover the discomfort. He hadn’t taken the path Brannon would’ve wanted him to—quite the opposite, actually—but Orzen couldn’t deny that somehow, he’d ended up in a place of safety anyway.

“I don’t mean to make you sad,” she added softly, watching him closely. “It’s only…sometimes we can’t see it. I think about Pa all the time, wonder what he’d think. And I’m sure you do too.”

“I do. And I think you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “Da would’ve loved you, so I’ve made at least one good choice.”

“You had little choice in being my friend.” She dusted the crumbs from her hands, mouth curling into a grin so bright he had to look away. “Hardly think you could’ve gotten rid of me that easily.” After a moment she added. “I’m pretty sure this makes us best friends now.”

He huffed a laugh—soft, breathy, and startled. He’d take it. He’d take whatever she offered and count it as a blessing.

“Not sure I’ve ever had one of those.” He couldn’t look at her, but the words didn’t come out as crooked as he’d feared. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Birdsong pressed around them as the sun continued to rise. Wren tossed little pieces of her scone into the grass, her gaze following the birds swooping down to snap them up.

The shard of metal sat heavy in his pocket, where it always had. He hadn’t planned or rehearsed this, but it felt right in the moment. It was a type of bravery unrelated to swords or armor, one he wasn’t quite used to.