Page 54 of Yasmin and the Yeti
Broc took a step closer, his eyes now locked with Rhaal’s.
“In the Valley of Echoes, we fought side by side again. I saw not the broken male who left us, but a warrior of tremendous control and power. A male who would die to protect what he loves.” Broc’s gaze flickered briefly to Yasmin. “A male worthy of his mate and the cub she carries.”
A low murmur rippled through the crowd at the mention of the pregnancy.
“I formally welcome Rhaal back from his exile,” Broc declared, his voice rising to fill the hall. “The past is buried. The debt is paid. He returns not as one seeking forgiveness, but as a hero of the clan.”
Broc extended his arm, offering the traditional warrior’s clasp. He hesitated only a heartbeat before releasing Yasmin’s hand and stepping forward. He clasped Broc’s forearm, feeling the strength in the other male’s grip.
“Brother,” Broc said quietly, for Rhaal’s ears alone.
“Brother,” he agreed.
The hall erupted in approving growls and the pounding of fists against chests—the clan’s way of showing respect and acceptance. The sound was deafening, overwhelming. He felt a pressure building inside his chest, overwhelmed by emotion.
As the noise subsided, the healer stepped forward from her position near the wall, her movements sure and graceful. In her clawed hands, she carried a small clay bowl filled with a shimmering blue liquid—sothiti in its purest form.
“Rhaal,” she called, her voice surprisingly strong. “Bring your mate forward.”
He returned to Yasmin’s side, placing a protective hand at the small of her back. He could feel her nervousness in the tension of her muscles, but her chin was high, her eyes clear and unafraid as they walked to the center of the hall.
The healer dipped one gnarled finger into the sothiti. With precise movements, she drew a glowing blue symbol on Yasmin’s forehead—the clan’s mark of protection and belonging.
“This female, though not born of our world, has earned her place among us,” Cera announced. “She has shown courage, loyalty, and strength of spirit worthy of the greatest of our females.”
The healer then turned her attention to Yasmin’s stomach.
“May I?” she asked Yasmin directly, her eyes kind, and Yasmin nodded.
The healer placed her hand on Yasmin’s stomach. An unexpectedly fierce protectiveness surged through him, his instinct to shield his mate and unborn cub nearly overwhelming. But he controlled it, instead placing his own hand over the Cera’s.
The healer closed her eyes, murmuring ancient words in a dialect so old even he could barely understand it. It was a blessing as old as their people—a prayer for protection, for strength, for a safe birth and a healthy cub.
“This child,” the healer proclaimed, opening her eyes and addressing the clan, “born of two worlds, shall have the protection and love of this clan. The gods have blessed this union. Let no one question what they have joined.”
She removed her hand, and his remained, covering Yasmin’s stomach protectively. The healer dipped her finger once more in the sothiti and drew the same symbol on his forehead that she had placed on Yasmin’s.
“What was broken is now whole,” she declared. “What was lost is now found.”
The clan erupted in a thunderous cheer, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Talvi stepped forward with a finely woven cloak of soft white fur, which she draped around Yasmin’s shoulders. Other females approached, each offering small gifts—carved beads, polished stones, small tools useful for a new mother.
He watched, a strange tightness in his chest as his clan—his people—formally accepted his mate and unborn cub. He had never expected this. Had never thought he would stand here again, honored rather than shunned, his choices celebrated rather than condemned.
The formal ceremony transitioned into a feast. Food was brought out—roasted meats, cave fruits, and fresh bread. The drums began again, but with a different rhythm—celebratory rather than ceremonial. Cubs darted between the adults,playing games of chase, their high-pitched squeals of delight punctuating the deeper conversations of the adults.
Throughout the celebration, he remained close to Yasmin, watching her interact with his people. She spoke easily with the females, and she even managed to make Broc laugh—a sound he hadn’t heard in years—with some comment he couldn’t quite catch.
As the night wore on, Njkall approached them, his expression solemn but his eyes warm.
“You have honored us with your courage,” he said to Yasmin, then turned to Rhaal. “And you with your return.”
Njkall gestured to the bustling cave around them. “There is a place for you here, if you wish it. A dwelling near the central caves, close to the healer for when the cub comes.”
It was a significant offer—prime living space, integration into the daily life of the clan. After years of solitude, it was more than he had ever expected to be offered.
“Consider it,” Njkall said, noting his hesitation. “The choice is yours.”
After the Elder left, he looked down at Yasmin, finding her already watching him, her expression thoughtful.
