A hand has passed

A full hand had passed since I had found myself alone in the forest, and somewhere within those five days the sharpness of my anger had begun to dull into something quieter. The first days had been filled with restless thoughts and an almost constant awareness of the empty space beside me, my mind returning again and again to the same questions. Where was Scar? Was he safe? Had he found what he had gone into the forest seeking? And perhaps most troubling of all, would he return? I had no answers to any of them, and eventually I had learned that there was little use in allowing questions without answers to consume the hours of my day. The forest cared nothing for my heartache. It still demanded that I hunt, gather, carry, mend, preserve, and prepare, and so I had done what I had always done when life became difficult. I worked.

The work had given the days a rhythm. Each morning I rose with the fire needing tending, the little black cub needing feeding, and the necessities of survival waiting for me beyond the cave. Ember had quickly learned that my rising meant food, and she had developed an impressive talent for making certain I knew when she considered me too slow. Her tiny cries had become as much a part of the morning as the crackle of the fire, and more than once I had opened my eyes to find two bright little eyes staring at me from far too close a distance. I would grumble at her, of course, but the sound was never accompanied by any real annoyance, especially when she would answer with one of those tiny sounds of hers before settling down to eat.

Once she was fed, my day began in earnest. Firewood had been gathered until I had a respectable supply stacked neatly against the cave wall, dry kindling tucked beneath it for the mornings when the fire was reluctant to catch. The food stores had been inspected and rearranged more times than necessary, smoked meat hung where the smoke could preserve it, and what needed to be dried had been carefully placed where the air could reach it. I had replenished the water barrel and made certain that the smaller containers were filled as well, knowing that the coming cold would make every task more demanding. Herbs had been gathered, roots dug, and edible plants collected wherever I found them, each addition to my stores bringing with it a small measure of satisfaction.

The cave itself had changed as well. What had once been merely a place to sleep and shelter from the weather had become a proper home, though I would never have called it that aloud. My weapons remained where I could reach them quickly, my gear kept orderly, and the furs upon the sleeping platform were shaken and arranged each morning. The three tallow candles remained tucked into their little hollows in the stone, ready for when darkness fell. Outside, I had continued the work of disguising the entrance, carefully weaving vines and roots into the surrounding greenery and planting ferns and other plants where they would help break up any unnatural lines. From even a short distance away, the cave was becoming increasingly difficult to see.

I had begun taking Ember with me when I worked near the entrance, though I kept a watchful eye upon her at all times. She was growing more confident by the day, and with that confidence had come an ever-increasing curiosity about the world around her. She had discovered that leaves moved when she attacked them, that small branches made excellent things to pounce upon, and that my basket was apparently an object created specifically for her investigation. I had lost count of how many times I had turned to find her attempting to climb into it, only to have her stare at me as though I were the one behaving strangely when I removed her.

Her little legs were still too short to take her far, but she had begun venturing a little farther from me while I worked. She would creep through the grass, stop, stare at something, and then suddenly spring forward with all the seriousness of a great hunter pursuing dangerous prey. Most of the time her prey was a leaf. Occasionally it was a piece of bark. Once it had been one of my own loose strands of hair, and I had learned that Ember possessed absolutely no sympathy when her tiny claws became entangled in it. She had then looked at me with such innocent confusion that I had been unable to do anything but laugh.

That laughter had surprised me.

It had been a genuine sound, escaping before I could stop it, and for a moment afterward I had simply stood there looking down at the cub. I could not remember the last time I had laughed so easily. Perhaps that was one of the things Ember had given me without knowing it. She had not erased the loneliness, nor had she filled the place Scar had left behind. Nothing could do that. But she had given the silence another sound, and somehow that made the emptiness feel less absolute.

My own body had continued to mend as well. The bruising had faded considerably, and while my ribs still reminded me of their injuries when I moved too quickly or reached too far, the pain was no longer the constant companion it had once been. The split in my lip had healed, leaving only a faint tenderness, and the scratches from the pantheress were finally settling instead of remaining irritated. I had been careful not to push myself too hard, though patience had never been one of my stronger virtues. There were still things I wanted to do, things that needed doing, but I had learned to recognize the difference between what could wait and what could not.

And perhaps that was why the afternoon felt so strange.

The work for the day was done.

There was wood stacked beside the cave. The water barrel was full. Food had been prepared and stored. The fire burned steadily, and there was nothing immediately demanding my attention. Even Ember seemed to have exhausted herself after an energetic morning of exploring, and she had eventually settled herself upon a patch of sun-warmed ground just outside the cave.

I stood there for a moment, almost suspicious of the quiet.

There was always something to do.

At least, there usually was.

Yet when I looked around, I realized that for once I did not need to do any of it.

So I sat.

It was an unusual thing for me, allowing the afternoon to pass without giving myself some task to fill it. I settled near the cave entrance where the warmth of the sun reached the stone, leaning back against the rock and stretching my legs before me. The forest was alive around me, filled with the distant calls of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the occasional sound of something moving unseen through the undergrowth. A breeze stirred the greenery I had worked so carefully into place, making the concealment of my home appear almost completely natural.

Ember eventually woke and made her way toward me, her little body wobbling slightly with sleep still clinging to her. Without ceremony, she climbed into my lap, turned herself around several times, and settled as though she had always belonged there. I rested one hand against her small back, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing beneath my palm.

For a while, I simply watched the forest.

My thoughts still wandered to Scar, as they inevitably did. I still wondered where he was. I still missed him. That had not changed simply because I had learned how to fill my days again. There were moments when I could almost imagine hearing his approach, the sound of his return carried through the trees, and each time I felt that small stirring inside my chest before reminding myself that it was only my own hope speaking.

I did not know when he would return.

I did not even know if he would.

But for this afternoon, I refused to let that uncertainty steal what little peace I had found.

I looked down at Ember, who had apparently decided that my lap was the finest sleeping place in all the forest, and gently stroked one finger along the top of her tiny head. A faint smile touched my lips.

For once, there was nowhere I needed to be.

Nothing I needed to hunt.

Nothing I needed to gather.

Nothing that demanded my hands.

So I remained where I was, beneath the warm afternoon sun, with a tiny black cub sleeping against me and the forest breathing quietly around us, allowing myself something I rarely permitted.

Rest.