Cavebound she learns patience

I woke slowly, my body reminding me almost immediately of yesterday’s work with the axe. The bruises and wounds that had plagued me for so long were little more than fading memories now, but my shoulders and back protested every movement, sore from the hours I had spent chopping wood. I stretched carefully beneath the furs, rolling one shoulder and then the other before finally sitting up with a quiet groan.

I was not sore enough to keep me inside. That was not what kept me here.

The Kurii had been here.

I could still hear their voices in my mind, those deep, guttural sounds carrying through the forest as they searched for whatever prey had led them this close to my home. They had passed near the cave without discovering it, and for that I had no doubt the forest itself had favored me. But that did not mean they were gone, nor did it mean they could not return.

My mother had taught me to listen to the forest, and Etna had taught me to survive within it. Between them, I had learned to read the wind, follow a trail, recognize danger, and know when the woods were telling me something was wrong.

Scar had taught me something entirely different: patience. I had never possessed enough of it.

I had always been a woman of movement. If something needed doing, I did it. If there was danger, I faced it. If there was a trail, I followed it. Waiting had always felt too much like surrender, and I had never been particularly good at surrendering to anything.

But Scar had shown me that waiting could be a choice rather than a weakness. Until I was certain the Kurii had moved well beyond this part of the forest, I would not be foolish enough to leave the safety of the cave and announce my presence with my tracks and scent.

Ember, naturally, had other ideas.

The young pantheress had barely stretched before she began pacing near the entrance, her tail flicking impatiently. I watched her for a moment before giving the quiet hand signal that allowed her to go. She slipped through the concealed opening and vanished among the trees without so much as a backward glance.

I stared after her, finding it difficult not to be jealous of a creature that could simply walk outside whenever she pleased.

I busied myself with the things that could be done within the cave. The fire needed tending, the remaining meat needed checking, and there were a few pieces of leather that could use attention. I worked slowly, refusing to acknowledge that my muscles complained with every movement. The soreness from yesterday’s chopping was almost insulting. I was strong enough to hunt, strong enough to walk, strong enough to do nearly everything I normally did, and yet I remained inside.

I hated it.

I found myself glancing toward the concealed entrance more often than I cared to admit, listening to the sounds beyond it. The forest seemed almost insultingly peaceful. Birds called from somewhere high in the canopy, branches moved softly beneath the breeze, and once I heard the distant chatter of some small creature moving through the undergrowth. Nothing sounded like Kurii, and nothing sounded dangerous, yet I knew better than to trust silence.

Everything in me wanted to go. I forced myself to remain where I was.

Again, I hated it.

I had just finished rearranging a small stack of firewood for perhaps the third time when Ember returned.

She slipped through the entrance with the casual confidence of someone who had absolutely no understanding of why her human companion was irritated. There was a smear of blood near her muzzle, and judging by the way she carried herself, she had found something to hunt.

She dropped what remained of her meal near the edge of the fire and looked at me.

I looked at her.

She blinked.

“You have been gone half the day,” I told her.

Ember merely began licking her paw.

I narrowed my eyes. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She continued cleaning herself.

I shook my head and returned to my work, muttering beneath my breath.

It was ridiculous. I was a Panther Girl of the northern forest. My mother had raised me to know these woods, and Etna had sharpened what I already knew. I could move through this forest without being seen. I could hunt, track, climb, and disappear into its shadows.

And now I was jealous of a young panther.

Ember could leave, hunt, answer nature’s call whenever she pleased, and return whenever she wished. I, however, was apparently going to spend my day sitting inside my own cave while the forest carried on without me.

I sighed heavily. “Damn you, Scar.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

For a moment, I simply sat there, staring toward the concealed entrance. Then I smiled faintly. He would probably be pleased with himself, and that thought irritated me almost as much as Ember did.

I looked toward the young feline, who had finished grooming herself and was now curled comfortably beside the fire.

“Do not look so smug.”

Her ears flicked toward me.

I leaned back against the stone wall and listened to the forest. I could wait another day if I had to. The Kurii would move on eventually, and when they did, I would return to my life as though this interruption had never happened.

For now, there was nothing to do but listen, watch, and let the forest tell me when it was safe to leave.

Scar, irritating man that he was, had at least taught me how to do that.