“But I did not,” he murmured as we left the encampment, as the wild lands of the east rose to greet us. It wasn’t as richly beautiful as the place I’d seen in his memories—the Trikki, a place I desperately hoped to see one day, though I knew I would not, with its lush, vibrant valleys and silvery waterfalls—but the eastlands had their own quiet beauty. “It was my first moon cycle as Vorakkar. I had led my horde—small and new then—to the north and one night, I left to go out to the wild lands. I had no place in mind to go, but I just kept going.”
Wandered, I thought.
Lokkaru had said that Davik used to go wandering a lot at night.
“I came across an ice forest. It was the cold season then. The first frost had long fallen. And on that quiet night, I heard a sound from inside the ice forest. A sad sound. A calling.” Davik reached forward to stroke Nillima’s neck and she pressed up into his touch, the little lush that she was. “Inside, I found her. Still young. She was injured. Her mother and her siblings had abandoned her because of it.”
Something tugged at my chest, deep and achy. My touch settled over his wrist, on the golden cuffs that encircled him there, hot to the touch.
“I brought her back to the horde, though she fought me the whole way. It made her wound even worse. But somehow, I managed to get her back. In the days that followed, I watched over her. She was not…easy. More than a dozen of my scars are from her.”
“Will you show me which ones?” I asked, the question off my lips before I second-guessed it.
“Later,” he promised, nipping at my ear as he did. I shivered against him and his arm tightened around me.
“But you healed her,” I said, wanting him to continue with his story. “Eventually.”
“Lysi,” he rasped. “From that moment on, she’s been bonded to me.”
The Dakkari had a special bond with their pyrokis, one that I didn’t think humans, or Killup, or Nrunteng, or Ghertun could understand.
I went quiet, listening to the sound of Nillima’s claws curling into the earth as she propelled herself forward. Surprisingly soothing, one I’d heard a lot on our journey from Dothik.
“You’re…” I tilted my head to look back at him, as a breeze lifted a strand of my hair and blew it across my cheek. “You’re very caring, you know. It’s in your nature.”
Disbelief shot through his eyes and he snorted. “How do you figure?”
He didn’t believe me. That much was obvious.
“Lokkaru told me about the Killup child you found,” I told him softly. “You take in little helpless creatures that you find. You give them a home, give them stability. You make them feel…safe.”
He stilled when he realized what I was saying. “You count yourself among those little helpless creatures?”
I blew out a breath. “All I’m trying to say is that you’ve called yourself a monster. And I don’t see one at all. I don’t know why you can’t see it. You’re the opposite of one. You’re in the habit of helping others even when you don’t need to.”
“I am certain not many would share your view, leikavi.”
Lokkaru did.
“And if you knew all that I have done, all that I am capable of…” he trailed off, his words a warning. “You would think otherwise too.”
“Then let me be the judge of that,” I said. “Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done and let me decide for myself.”
He huffed out a breath. Then, with a tone I couldn’t recognize, he murmured, “Sometimes I wonder what happened to that frightened little creature I stumbled upon in Dothik.”
My lips twitched, though I didn’t feel much amusement in his words. “Maybe she realized there was nothing to be frightened of.”
“Perhaps there is.”
A long stretch of silence floated between us. The only sound was Nillima’s clawed hooves digging into the earth as she walked.
I don’t know why but I felt hurt, disappointed, though I thought I had no right to be. I didn’t own his stories, his memories. I had wanted him to confide in me, to trust me with them…but his silence was answer enough.
“Davik.”
His words were harsh and tight. “I am trying, leikavi. I truly am. I—I just…I cannot make the words come. I have never spoken about this. There are many things I have never spoken of.”
My shoulders sagged. “It’s all right,” I whispered. “You