Laina
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The pen thudded onto the stack of papers as I grabbed my keys and raincoat. My heart pounded against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Abagail. Gone. Pregnant. Dad always said emergencies didn’t leave room for hesitation, and he was right.
I stuffed my medical bag with basics I might need for a pregnant animal, including pain relievers suitable for snugglethorns. The paperwork related to selling the clinic would wait.
Bertha’s engine roared to life, her windshield wipers beating back sheets of rain. I pulled out of my driveway and pushed her fast, though I took care on the slick roads.
A few weeks ago, I would’ve asked more questions. Weighed whether this constituted a true emergency or if it could wait until morning. I would’ve finished reviewing the papers, filed them neatly, and maybe even made myself a cup of tea before heading out.
But now I was racing through the rain without a second thought, the papers scattered across my kitchen table.
The headlights caught the rescue league ahead, and through the downpour I saw Brovish standing beside it, soaked to the skin. Sofia circled above his head, her tiny wings beating frantically against the rain, her body a glowing orange beacon.
I pulled up beside him and rolled down my window.
“Get in,” I called out.
He folded himself into Bertha’s passenger seat, water streaming from his hair and clothes. Sofia zoomed in after him, shaking droplets from her wings and peeping wildly.
“How long have you been standing in the rain?” I asked, already guiding Bertha toward his cottage.
“Not long.”
His tusks caught his upper lip when he frowned, and water dripped from his eyelashes. His shirt clung to his chest, and his breathing came fast. He looked like he’d been pacing for hours.
“You’re soaked through,” I said. “You need dry clothes before we search or you’ll get sick.”
He stared at me, as if the concept of his own well-being hadn’t occurred to him. “But Abagail—”
“Will be found faster if you’re not hypothermic. Do you have a raincoat?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re stopping at your cabin first and you’re going to change.”
I parked in front of his cottage, and he was out the door and running before I’d unbuckled, water flying from his hair. I followed at a slower pace, pulling my hood over my head against the downpour.
His cabin door stood open, and I stepped inside, closing it against the weather. Sofia perched on the back of his sofa, scraping her tiny claws across the fabric and shooting tiny puffs of smoke into the air.
“I’ll be less than one minute,” Brovish called through the cracked open bedroom door.
I stood in his living room, water pooling beneath my boots. The fire he’d lit this morning in his woodstove had burned down to embers, but I added a few thinner pieces of wood, topping it off with larger cuts to keep it going. When we returned, we’d be grateful for its warmth.
He emerged wearing dry clothes, a heavy raincoat in his hands, and a worried frown that made my skin feel too tight to hold everything in.
“I searched for an hour before calling you,” he said, shrugging into the coat. “I found traces of blue wool on the eastern perimeter, heading into the deep woods, but I couldn’t pick up a trail. With two of us, we can expand our search in that area. I think she’s still on the property.”
“When did you last see her?”
“During our morning check. The gate was secure then.”
He grabbed a large pack from beside the door and opened it, showing me the contents. Flashlights, rope, emergency blankets, a first aid kit, water bottles.
“You’re prepared,” I said, impressed despite my worry.
“I wasn’t prepared enough to keep her safe.” His jaw tightened. “This is my failure. In the kingdom, this brings shame to a caretaker.”
I shook my head. “Pregnant animals often seek isolation before birth. It’s instinct.”
“Snugglethorns only leave if they feel unsafe.” Guilt came through in his voice. “She didn’t trust us enough to stay.”
“Then we’ll find her and prove she can.”
We stopped by the medical bay, where I added more supplies, including some for us if we were gone for long. As I sorted everything, he told me about the routes he’d already searched.
His eyes followed my movements, studying what I took, and I could see him making mental notes, learning. We worked in tandem without discussing it, me handling medical supplies while he adjusted the flashlights and checked the batteries.
The rain had settled into a steady downpour by the time we reached Abagail’s empty pen. Brovish showed me the tufts of blue wool caught on the fence line. We’d broaden our search in this area.
“When a snugglethorn isn’t secure with a host family, they’ll create birth dens,” he said as we found another bit of wool snagged on a bush, then another, following a bit of a trail, our flashlights catching on wet underbrush.
“They seek places with stone walls, low ceilings, and soft ground underfoot. High families build special birthing chambers for their snugglethorns. Stone rooms carved into mountain sides, lined with soft moss from the deep forest. The elders say if a snugglethorn births in your home, your family will know prosperity for seven generations.”
“How many young do they typically have?” I asked, ducking under a low branch he held for me. “I haven’t had the chance to look online.”
“One, usually. Twins happen but rarely. When they come, they’re very small.” He pointed to another clump of blue wool caught on a thorny bush. “Their horns don’t start growing in until the third month. They nurse for about twelve weeks, then start transitioning to soft plants.”
Sofia flew ahead of us, her orange glow dancing between the raindrops. She would circle back, peep urgently, then zoom forward again. We were following her as much as the thin trail.
“You know so much about them,” I said.
“My family kept snugglethorns. I helped with birthing season.” Pride shone in his voice, though I could tell he tried to mask it. “They’re wise creatures and picky about who they’ll trust.”
The forest floor grew treacherous as we moved deeper, following small pieces of wool caught on bushes.
Mud slicked underfoot, and hidden roots waited to trip us.
Pine needles clung to my boots, and the smell of wet earth rose with every step.
The rain had changed the forest into a secretive world, water dripping from leaves like tiny footsteps all around us.
Brovish strode through it like he belonged here, while I felt like an intruder barely tolerated. His night vision clearly outpaced mine. He navigated easily while I stumbled, my flashlight beam bouncing.
“The ground drops here,” he said, reaching back to take my arm.
Too late. My foot slipped on a rain-slick stone, and I pitched forward with a startled cry.
His arm shot out, catching me before I fell. My momentum sent me into him, and his arm went around my waist. I looked up, rain streaming down my face, to find his eyes on mine.
We stayed like that, pressed together in the rain, his warmth seeping through his clothes.
“Thank you,” I said.
His hand found mine, his fingers wrapping around my smaller ones.
“I can see better than you can in the dark,” he said. “For safety, we should stay connected.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Holding hands, we moved forward carefully. Sofia swooped back, circling overhead before leading on.
“I’ve been thinking about our kiss,” he said, so quietly I almost lost it beneath the rain. “Since it happened.”
I swallowed hard, wondering where he’d take this. “So have I.”
“I worried that you might regret it.”
“I was worried you did.” The confession tumbled out of me, easier in the dark with only the rain and Sofia to witness. “You didn’t mention it after.”
“I didn’t know what to say. In the kingdom, intentions are clearer.” He helped me over a fallen log. “Here, I am never certain if I’ve understood social cues correctly.”
Before I could respond, Sofia let out a high-pitched trill. She shot forward, her glow brightening.
“She’s found something,” Brovish said, pulling me forward.
We followed Sofia to a rocky outcropping, where the ground rose up to form a small cliff face. At the base, an opening had been formed by fallen stones. Sofia hovered at the entrance, casting her orange glow into the shadows.
Brovish dropped to his knees, peering inside. “Abagail?”
A low, rumbling sound emerged from the darkness.
I knelt beside him, aiming my flashlight. Inside, Abagail had created a nest of leaves, twigs, and her own wool. She lay on her side, breathing heavily, her eyes wide and alert.
“May I come in?” I asked softly.
Abagail made that rumbling sound again, and Brovish translated. “She’s inviting us.”
After crawling inside, I assessed her condition. Her flanks heaved with regular contractions. Sticks and burdocks matted her wool.
“She’s in labor,” I said, running my hands gently over her distended belly. “Early stages.”
Brovish crawled in beside me, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the opening. He spoke to Abagail in a low, melodic language I didn’t understand. She responded by leaning her head against his hand.
“She feels safe here,” he said. “But I believe she’s afraid.”
“Can we move her back?”
He shook his head. “Moving a laboring snugglethorn can cause distress. They believe the place they choose is sacred.”
I ran through our options. The cave was small but dry. The rain had lessened, but it was pitch dark outside. Trying to transport Abagail now could risk both her and the snuggler.
“Then we’ll deliver here,” I said.
I switched into what my father used to call doctor mode. The small cave became a delivery room with Brovish’s emergency blanket making a clean floor while I arranged my supplies. This wasn’t a clinic with backup and bright lights, but I’d been preparing for this moment my entire career.
Sofia perched on a rock near Abagail’s head, her warm glow making the place feel cozy.
Abagail’s contractions intensified over the next hour. I checked her vital signs while Brovish stroked her cheeks and murmured encouragement. Her horn bobbed as she pushed, struggling against the pain.
“You’re doing well,” I said softly, checking her progress. “Not much longer now.”
Brovish met my eyes over her heaving flank. “You’re remarkable.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
He shook his head. “With us both here, she’s calm. Most snugglethorns choose one birthing attendant from their host family. She chose us both.”
The weight of that trust settled over me as I prepared for the delivery.
When the baby emerged, tiny and slick, Brovish caught it. He cleared its airways and placed it against Abagail’s side, where she turned to lick it dry, her eyes soft.
“It’s a female,” he said, his voice thick.
Before we could fully admire her, Abagail tensed again. I looked at Brovish, my eyes wide.
“Another one’s coming,” I said.
The second birth went faster. A slightly smaller snuggler with a darker wool coat slipped into my waiting hands. I cleaned its mouth and nose, and it let out a squeaky bleat that made my heart squeeze tight.
“Twins,” Brovish breathed. “Another female. This is rare fortune.” He spoke with reverence, cradling the tiny creature with so much tenderness that my chest cracked open.
The babies, each no bigger than a small cat, nestled against their mother, nursing. Abagail’s eyes showed she was tired but peaceful. Sofia fluttered nearby, casting her warm light over the new family.
“They’ll need to stay here at least until morning,” I said, checking Abagail’s vital signs. “She’s exhausted, and they’re too fragile to move through the rain.”
“I’ll stay,” Brovish said.
“One of us needs to get help.” I started packing my supplies. “A cart to transfer her in, more blankets, and someone to clear a path.”
“We have an off-road vehicle we can use.”
“You know the trails better than I do,” I said. “You can bring back the others faster.”
He looked torn, his eyes moving between Abagail and me. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Abagail and the babies. And Sofia if she chooses to stay. We’ll be fine until you get back.”
He hesitated but finally nodded. I gave him instructions on what to bring back, and he listened, committing everything to memory.
Before he left, he knelt beside the new family again.
“You asked if I regretted our kiss,” he said quietly, not looking my way. “I don’t. I regret that it ended.”
His tusks caught the orange glow when he turned toward me, and I wondered how something that fierce could feel gentle against my skin.
Sofia flew to his shoulder. She stared at me, then flew out of the cave, taking her glow along with her.
“Sofia,” he said. “You should stay with Laina.”
She peeped but didn’t return to the cave.
“She wants to go with you,” I said. “I’ll be fine here with Abagail.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am. Be careful. I’ll see you when you get here.”
The air between us felt different than it had a short time ago.
He pulled me close, his lips finding mine. This wasn’t a surprised kiss stolen in a moment of discovery. This was a choice made with full awareness.
His hands cradled my face, and I leaned into him, tasting rain on his lips.
When we parted, he gazed into my eyes.
“I’ll be back as quickly as possible,” he said.
He slipped into the night, and I settled beside Abagail and her babies.
My mind drifted to my kitchen table and the papers I’d finally signed. Those papers belonged to a different Laina, one who’d thought taking over her father’s business was the best way to define a life. She’d lived inside the walls her father had built but now she was spreading her wings.
Abagail had chosen this cave as her safe place to bring new life into the world.
And while helping her bring new life into the world, I’d found mine too, a world where Sofia chirped when she saw me.
Steven and his friends decorated my hair.
And Brovish stared at me when he thought I wouldn’t notice.
I belonged to something bigger than a building with my name on it.
I belonged here.
I touched my lips where Brovish had kissed me and smiled in the darkness. The rain continued outside, but inside, we were warm and safe.