25. Traig
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TRAIG
Iwoke before dawn with Willa warm beside me and didn’t move for a long time.
Her breath came steady against my chest. One of her legs had tangled with mine during the night, her foot tucked between my calves.
Her mating mark on her wrist caught the first gray light filtering through the window. Silver against brown skin. The mountain and wave that meant she’d chosen me.
My father’s voice had lived in my head for many years. Competence is expected. Excellence might be noticed.
His voice had gone quiet. Not completely gone but smaller.
Willa shifted, making a soft sound, her fingers flexing against my chest before she settled again.
I extracted myself carefully, lifting her hand from my chest and setting it on the pillow where I’d been. She mumbled and rolled onto her side, curling into the warmth I’d left behind.
The shower water ran hot enough to make my skin tingle. I stood under it, letting the heat work into muscles that had been tense for weeks. When I emerged, Willa was still asleep, one hand tucked under her cheek.
I dressed and went to the kitchen to make her coffee. While it brewed, I filled the kettle and set it to heat.
Fred floated through the doorway, Amanda riding on his back. Her crown glowed orange in the pre-dawn light.
“Morning,” I said, preparing a meal for them both.
Fred grumbled and bumped into the cabinet door I’d left open. He ricocheted toward the window, Amanda’s crown flaring brighter.
“Careful,” I told him.
He grumbled again, this time in a lower pitch, and settled on top of the refrigerator until I placed their food on a mat on the floor. He flew down, and they ate.
The kettle whistled. I made my tea and carried it to the back deck, easing the door closed behind me.
Shadows still covered most of the clearing behind our cottage, but the sky had started to lighten at the edges. The trees stood black against it, their shapes sharpening as my eyes adjusted.
A rumbleback emerged from the tree line, moving toward the water trough. Its stone armor caught what little light there was, making it look like a piece of a mountain had come loose and started walking.
I sipped my tea and watched it drink.
This was mine. The cottage, the clearing, the creatures that wandered through. The mug in my hand that I’d chosen because it held the right amount of liquid and the grip felt good in my hand.
Willa sleeping in our bed with her hair spread across my pillow.
Competence is expected.
My father had said it as a warning. Anything less than perfect was grounds for dismissal.
The rumbleback finished drinking and walked back toward the trees, its footsteps heavy.
I’d spent my entire life making choices I thought would fit an invisible standard. Weighing whether I’d done enough to justify existing. Doing this had kept me away from the truly amazing things in life. Instead of being the person my parents demanded, I needed to be myself.
And now I no longer felt the need to try.
The door opened behind me. Willa stepped onto the deck, wearing one of my shirts, her coffee mug cradled in both hands.
She studied my face.
“You decided something,” she said. “Tell me.”
“When it matters,” I said. “Soon.”
Her mouth twitched. “That’s cryptic.”
“It’s honest.”
She frowned for another moment, then settled into the chair beside me, tucking her legs underneath her. The shirt—my shirt—rode up, exposing the curve of her thigh. Her mating mark caught the growing light.
The sky continued to lighten. A clatterwing flew past, its wings chiming.
“Today’s the first day of the school program,” she said. “Do you feel ready?”
I glanced at her. “Do you?”
“I asked first.”
“We built it together,” I said. “It’ll work.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I am ready.”
She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. “Alright then. Let them bring it.”
The facility was already alive when we arrived. Gerald the snugglethorn waited in the front pasture. Drogar was carrying something that chittered from inside a covered crate. Krem stood near the driftwhisp enclosure with his clipboard, making notes while seven driftwhisps orbited his head.
Laina met us at the door, Sofia perched on her shoulder.
“Big day,” she said.
“Yes.”
“This is going to be amazing.”
Willa grinned. “We’ve been over the plan seventeen times. There’s no other outcome available but amazing.”
“Eighteen,” I said.
“See?” Willa gestured at me. “He agrees.”
Laina laughed. “The kids are going to love you both.”
The first bus arrived at nine thirty, releasing a flood of tiny humans who pointed at everything and asked questions before their teacher and chaperone parents could organize them into anything resembling the small groups we’d planned on.
Ms. Collins strode over to us, phone in hand, her hair a bit mussed. But she was smiling.
“Thank you for having us,” she said.
“We’re excited to share the creatures with them,” Willa said.
I nodded and opened my tablet, pulling up the schedule.
“The first group will start with the bloombacks,” I said. “Then move to—”
“Traig.” Willa’s hand on my arm stopped me. “They just got here. Let them look around first.”
The teacher smiled. “That would be wonderful.”
Children scattered like fizzlings, drawn to the nearest enclosure where Gerald grazed. Gerald lifted his head, studied them, and went back to eating grass. Assigned parents followed, keeping the children organized.
“Is he friendly?” a girl asked.
“Very,” Brovish said, joining them. “His name is Gerald. Would you like to meet him?”
They all nodded, unable to look away from the snugglethorn.
Brovish opened the gate and led Gerald out. The children formed a semi-circle, watching with wide eyes.
Gerald sniffed the closest child, a girl with dark braids, and huffed. She giggled. He leaned his head toward her, and she reached up slowly, placing her palm on his nose.
“He’s soft,” she breathed.
The other children crowded closer, all wanting to touch him. Gerald stood still while tiny hands patted his woolly sides.
Willa caught my eye and smiled.
“Alright everyone,” Ms. Collins called out.
“Let’s let Gerald rest and move to our first station.
Betty, could you corral your group and take them to Station 2?
Bill, you’re with the third group, at Station 3.
Jenson, take your group to Station 4.” She smiled my way.
“The schedule you sent ahead is going to work very well. I can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”
While Betty took her group to the first station, Brovish led Gerald back into his pasture and latched the gate.
One group gathered near the bloomback enclosure, and Willa and I joined them.
Rue and Fern stood together by the far fence, their flowers in full bloom. I’d never seen their colors this bright.
“These are bloombacks,” Willa said, her voice carrying easily. “Their names are Rue and Fern. Can anyone tell me what’s special about them?”
“They have flowers on their backs!” a boy shouted.
“That’s right. The flowers change colors based on how they’re feeling and what season it is.” She glanced at me.
“Rue’s flowers are usually light pink,” I said. “Fern’s are typically medium purple. But today they’re brighter than we’ve recorded before.”
“Why?” a girl asked.
“Because they’re happy,” Willa said.
“How do you know?”
“Watch them.”
The children went quiet, studying the two creatures.
Rue shifted her weight. Fern’s flowers brightened, the deep lavender taking on hints of pink at the edges.
“Did you see that?” Willa asked.
Heads nodded.
“They’re aware of each other,” I said. “When one moves, the other responds. When they’re separated, Fern’s flowers turn pale, and she stops eating. Rue becomes restless.”
“So they’re friends?” a boy asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Some animals—and people—make sense together. Like you with your best friend, or maybe your mom and dad with each other.”
Willa smiled.
A girl raised her hand. I’d already been told that this meant she wanted to speak.
“Yes?” I said.
“Do they love each other?”
I could share documentation about every creature living here at the rescue. But this child wasn’t asking for documentation. She wanted emotions. The feeling she had for a sibling or a parent. A friend.
“Yes,” I said. “They love each other.”
“How do you know?” another child asked.
“Because they choose to be together,” Willa said. “Even when they could be apart. That’s what love is.”
“Like I love Willa,” I said.
I’d spent my life hiding what I felt. Documenting my feelings instead of telling the person who needed to hear them. Filing away anything that couldn’t be evaluated to be examined later. Holding it against the standard my parents had set for me.
Not anymore.
Erika Collins watched us with a soft expression on her face.
The program continued. We moved through stations, talking about driftwhisps, grumbletoads, and fizzlings—with Nix escaping twice. Each stop built on the last, the curriculum showing the children everything we’d designed.
By the time the buses loaded up to leave, the parents and teacher couldn’t stop smiling.
“This was everything I’d hoped for,” she said. “More than I’d hoped for. I’d like to make this recurring, with a fall session and a spring session. Can we schedule a planning meeting in the next few weeks?”
“We can,” I said. I’d be there, because I’d decided.
I opened my tablet to write a note.
Willa leaned over my arm and typed something into the meeting title field.
Fall Planning Session!!!
I changed it back to Fall Planning Session with a period.
“One exclamation point then,” she said. “A compromise.”
“Exclamation points are unnecessary in documentation.”
“They’re fun.”
“They’re inefficient.”
“One,” she said again.
I took in the smile she wasn’t bothering to hide, and I added two exclamation points.
Her grin widened.
Ms. Collins, standing nearby, laughed. “You two are perfect together.”
We waved as the bus left the parking lot.
The day blurred after that with intake calls and creature administration. Drogar asked if we had any leftover cookies, which we did. Krem wrote about the program’s success on social media, and Brovish suggested that thirty-seven posts might be too many.
Late in the day, Willa found me by the bloomback enclosure. Rue and Fern stood together near the water trough, their flowers even brighter than they’d been during the school visit.
“We did it,” Willa said.
“We did.”
“Those kids are going to remember this forever.” She leaned against the fence beside me. “You were amazing with them.”
My throat closed off. “You made it work. I would’ve overwhelmed them with details in the first five minutes.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. You told them Rue and Fern love each other. You didn’t reach for your tablet once.”
She was right. I hadn’t.
I’d chosen what mattered.
By the time we walked home, the sun had slid toward the tree line.
When we reached the cottage, I found a folded message pinned to the door.
My smile faded, and I tugged it off and opened it, dreading what I’d see.
“What does it say?” Willa asked.
“The scribe will arrive tomorrow morning at nine.”