"I like it here." Her voice was quiet, and she played with a fallen oak leaf. "I like the rustle of the wind in the trees. I like the cold wind. I like . . . I like who I am here."

He held her hand in his—a pale lily in a paw—and something broke inside her. The pain flooded her, gushing out like blood from beneath a scab peeled off too soon.

And she told him.

She needed to talk.

She needed to share this with him or she thought it would never leave her.

She told him of fleeing Eteer when she had been three, almost too young to remember, but old enough for the fear and pain to linger. She told him of Zerra burning her mother at the stake as she watched. She spoke of Shedah leeching her for potions, of Zerra beating her, of years of hunger, cold, neglect, and pain. Of the shattered bones, of the shivering nights in rain, and of her hope—her hope to find others, to find the escarpment, to find him. Her voice remained steady, and her eyes remained dry, and she simply spoke—remembering, sharing, healing.

He listened. Sometimes his eyes widened, and sometimes he gasped, and at other times he seemed both mad and pained. But he did not speak until she was done. And then he simply held her, silent.

They returned to the canyon. Laira had learned that many tunnels and caves ran underground here. There were chambers for sleeping, for cooking, for storing supplies. There were secret rooms for defense; their walls had small openings like arrowslits, outlets for a dragon to blow fire into the canyon. There were secret traps of boulders to topple onto invaders. There were deep caves for hiding when danger came. It was both a secret, magical labyrinth and a fortress of stone and moss.

That night, Jeid and Laira lay down to sleep in one of the caves, a fire burning beside them, its smoke wafting out a hole in the ceiling. Eranor stood outside upon the watchtower—that pillar of stone that rose between the trees, affording a view of the valleys below. Firelight painted the cave, but Laira still felt cold.

She rose, wrapped in her fur blankets, and settled down beside Jeid, and he held her in his arms. They lay together, sharing their warmth. She laid her head against his chest, and his one hand held the small of her back. She felt safe. He would not hurt her. He would not try to lie with her as his twin brother had.

"I will keep you safe," he whispered. "Always."

She believed him. And she loved him. She did not know if she loved him as she loved a foster father, a man, or a friend. It did not matter. She loved him and that was enough.

I'm happy here, she thought. This is my home.