Page 108 of Tiger's Trek
He paused. “Did I tell all this about myself before?”
“Not about your mother, no. When my paw was in a trap, you gave me something to make me sleep. I healed too quickly for you to treat me, but I saw what you’d made and dropped as you ran out. You put a lot of work into it.”
Danik grunted. “She always called me her miracle boy. Didn’t have me until she was older than most. When they got sick, I tended to them, hoping Iwasa miracle. That I was sent to them to save them. I never got sick. Not even a cough.” Danik began rinsing her hair and then paused. “Mama died first. I was holding her hand so tight. Her body just... just stopped fighting. It relaxed. She looked at me and smiled and said, ‘My angel.’ A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and she was gone.”
He took the towel and began squeezing the excess water from her shorn hair. Then he stood, leaving the towel wrapped around her head, and tossed out the water, putting away the bucket and the soap.
“What about your papa?” Veru asked. “Do you remember?”
Sighing, Danik nodded and looked through the bag, removing the comb. Then he took the towel from her head, and she sat up. As he began working through the short hair, he said, “Papa was delirious. He didn’t even know Mama was gone. I buried her with my uncle’s help, then sat with him for two more days, trying to feed him broth and soaked bread, anything my aunt left at the door. But he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. He was gone before the third day.”
“How old were you?”
“Not yet twenty. After my father was buried, I stayed away from my cousins long enough to ensure I didn’t carry what my parents had, then I left with my older cousins on a hunting trip to help. Soon after I was assigned my own route.”
His hands stopped moving over her hair. “There. I think it’s long enough now.”
Veru’s fingers darted up to her wet scalp. “I didn’t realize you were usingthatcomb.”
“I thought you might like your hair to be your usual length. Not that I don’t like it short.”
Standing, Veru removed the towel from her shoulders. “Thank you for helping me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So, can I ask... when we first arrived, and you were searching for your home...”
“I was lost.”
“Which makes perfect sense. This is a strange place, after all,” Veru said, taking a step around the chair.
“It is,” he said, setting the comb down on top of the chair and narrowing his eyes at her, wondering what she was up to.
“And then I was a perfect stranger as well. You having only known me as a very large cat.” Veru walked her fingers along the arm of the chair and slid her foot closer, closing the gap between them.
“That’s right,” Danik replied, not moving away but not bending toward her either, which was frustrating to Veru. Never in her life had she had to woo a man, and she found the exercise both taxing and, to her surprise, also exhilarating.
When she was right next to him, her arm brushing against his, she wondered how she should approach him. Veru knew he cared about her. The kiss they’d shared before proved he wasn’t immune to her charms. So, what was it? Why did he hold back? What was it that he’d said to her before? Something about him being string or an instrument that might be broken?
She thought about the words of his song. He’d been concerned about being a pawn in a vicious game. It was possible he’d been talking about their situation, but there was a niggling part of her that wondered if he wasn’t speaking of her. Did she even deserve someone as good as Danik? His mama’s miracle child, her angel boy? Surely if she was looking down on them from heaven right now, she’d choose someone else for her only son.
While it was true that Veru was a tsarevna, a royal, born of noble blood, she’d always felt like an impostor. What would it be like to be loved not for your face, your body, or even your blood, but simply for who you were? Loved enough that someone would kneel at your damaged feet to ease your pain. Seen for your humor, your mind, and appreciated or not, depending on your actions and not on your appearance.
Perhaps a more direct approach might work, she thought.
“Danik?” she began.
“Yes?”
“Do you think there’s a possibility that a hunter?—”
“A musician who hunts,” he clarified.
“Right.” Veru picked up his hand, turned it over, and began lightly tracing the calluses on his fingers, trying to figure out which ones were made from playing instruments and which ones were made from wielding a bow or setting traps. She started over. “Do you think it’s possible for a musician who hunts to find happiness with the very thing he’s been hunting for?”
Danik frowned. “That tickles. What are you saying?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you? You came here searching for something. A home, right? Well, how about it?”
