Chapter Twenty-Two
Dahlia
Ieye the hot springs longingly as Eryon carries me back to his bed. My skin is sticky, and in some places, we’re glued together, dried fluids tightening with every step. He doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to bathe after our mutual marking.
I insisted I could walk. He insisted harder. And truthfully—being carried in his arms, wrapped in his scent of pine and snow, his velvety skin brushing mine—is no hardship.
Eryon chuckles before tossing me onto the bed like I weigh nothing. I let out a breathless laugh, landing in a tangle of limbs and contentment in the furs. My cheeks are starting to ache from the nonstop smile he has plastered on my face.
As he stokes the fire, I watch the embers drift up with the woodsmoke and out the small hole in the very top of this particular cavern that seems to be his bedroom. I’m amazed at how comfortably he lives in such a primitive set up.
There are large hot springs for bathing and drinking.
A smaller one leads out and under the wall of the cave that he explained to me was for the bathroom.
A series of niches in the wall serve as storage for what few belongings he has, and there is even a pantry with baskets of food.
The bed, furs piled on top of a rough wooden frame twice as large as my king bed back home, rivals the comfort of my pillowtop back home.
Once the fire crackles to life, he dumps out the bag retrieved from the man in the woods, revealing several fat silver fish. My stomach growls at the sight—I hadn’t realized how much I missed eating something besides plants.
It reminds me to ask him, “Do you eat meat?”
“Rarely,” he replies, arranging the fish over the flames. “I will tonight—wasting them would dishonor their lives. But I am a guardian of the forest. I take only what is necessary. And I can survive without killing those I protect.”
I run my fingers through the soft furs on the bed and ask, “What about these?”
“I take the pelts of animals that have already fallen, so they may still serve a purpose. Some things are given to me as offerings.”
“Like when you help people?” I ask, remembering Sita’s story—how her family had been saved from freezing when the Migoi brought them firewood. Though I hadn’t believed it when she told me, now I know it was true.
He throws me a half smile and admits, “When they deserve it. But my first responsibility is the earth and its creatures. Humans are pretty good at putting themselves first.”
His words cause a slight twinge in my gut, and I push away the thoughts of leaving that they stir up.
Instead, I get up to go sit beside him as he roasts the fish over the fire, the rich, savory scent filling the cavern.
As I wait, I nibble on dried fruit and nuts, the sweetness a poor substitute for the protein my body craves.
When he hands me the steaming fish, I don’t wait for it to cool and burn my fingertips and the roof of my mouth. But it's worth it.
He chuckles, eyes warm with amusement, and passes me a waterskin. I take a grateful sip, the cool water soothing the burn.
The simple meal is delicious, but it’s the company that makes it better. We talk about our lives, laughing at the stark differences. When I confess my surprise at how much he knows about the modern world, he gives me a flat look.
“I have ears,” he says dryly, rolling his eyes.
“I have listened to people for years, and have even seen television through people’s windows.
Which is the greatest waste of time I have ever witnessed.
There is much I have learned over the years.
Languages, stories, songs. Maybe not your ass backing up song, but others. ”
I laugh and try to explain the plots of some of my favorite shows and movies to him but even I have to admit, they seem inconsequential when I try to put them into words. I don’t bother with trying to sing since we’ve both heard enough of that.
My life seems like another world entirely sitting here in the cave next to him. One that I’m not sure I want to go back to. But we can’t always get what we want.
“I’ll show you something worth watching,” he says, tugging me away from the fire by the hand as we finish eating.
He leads me through another maze of twisting tunnels, the air growing lighter and warmer with every step. I get the sense that we are climbing both higher and deeper, ascending into the very heart of the mountain itself.
I let out an audible gasp as we emerge into an ethnobotanist’s paradise.
Lush greenery sprawls before me, a hidden oasis cradled within the stone.
Broad-leafed plants ripple in the breeze, their silvery-green leaves catching the starlight.
Thick vines drape from the cliff walls, their delicate flowers nodding like a thousand whispered secrets.
The air is rich and warm, tinged with minerals and blooming life.
I tip my head back, following the sheer walls of the basin up as they stretch toward the heavens, forming a great domed ceiling. At the very top, a jagged skylight yawns open, spilling moonlight into the sanctuary below.
Stars wink and shimmer through the gap, distant and infinite, like silent watchers peering into this sacred place.
I throw my arms wide and spin in a slow circle, taking in the beauty around me.
A slow, wondrous smile spreads across my lips as Eryon sweeps me up and spins me, with a delighted answering smile.
Shyly he asks, “Do you like it?”
“Like it? I love it! Truly, Eryon, it’s magical. What is this place?” I ask, breathless as he sets me back down on my feet.
“A sacred place,” he murmurs reverently. “I’ve never brought a human here before.”
His silver eyes flicker in the moonlight, searching mine as if to impress upon me the gravity of this moment. “This is the heart of the mountain.”
He leads me toward the center of the alcove, where steam rises in soft, ghostly tendrils from a deep, mineral-rich pool. The water bubbles up from beneath the earth, its gentle currents lapping against carefully stacked stones.
Even in the dim glow of the stars, I can see it—the way the rocks have been fitted together by careful, deliberate hands. Not by chance but intention. A sanctuary, shaped by time and devotion.
I realize now the heat in this secret garden isn’t just rising from the water; it’s held captive by the towering cliff walls, caught within the embrace of stone and sky. A world preserved in warmth, untouched by the ice beyond.
The botanist in me aches to return in daylight, to study the plants that must flourish in this hidden cradle of life.
The ethnobotanist in me wonders how the people of the region might have used them.
Were they ever known? Gathered? Revered?
Or has this place remained a secret—untouched, unseen, waiting?
I desperately want to ask if perhaps the Migoi have used them. But those questions belong to another time. Right now, the world is awash in silver and shadow, bathed in moonlight so soft it feels otherworldly and magical.
I turn back toward Eryon, my breath hitching as I find the night sky reflected in his eyes. A galaxy of light and longing.
Something takes root in my chest. A shift that has me realizing a quiet, inexorable truth. And as I watch him—watch the same feeling take shape in his gaze—I know I am no longer lost.
I try to push it down—to starve it of air, to keep it from taking root like the lush foliage around me. But love, like life, is relentless. It grows where it will, thriving in the harshest climates, in the smallest cracks of a rocky mountain. It is a force of nature beyond our control.
Yet no matter how beautiful this place is, how peaceful, how welcoming—I know I can’t stay, no matter how much I want to. I cannot fall in love with a Yeti. And even if I could, if I let myself, I would still die here.
If I don’t find my way back to town, if I don’t finish this expedition to find this damn plant, then love, like me, will wither before it has the chance to bloom. The genetic flaw that took my mother’s life in her fifties will take mine too—unless I stop it.
The Silene vitalis carries the precise enzyme my body lacks, the key to breaking down the proteins slowly poisoning me. I need time, maybe even years, to extract it, to perfect the delivery mechanism.
And I won’t find my cure hiding away in a cave with a Yeti. Tomorrow, I’ll ask him to take me back to Migdhari—before these feelings can blossom. Although I think it might already be too late.
I school my face, bury the thought deep, and let him guide me into the steaming water, my body surrendering to the inviting heat—even as my heart refuses to do the same.
The stones are smooth beneath my feet as I cautiously make my way to the built-in stone bench. He sits on it and then settles me between his legs and pulls me against his chest. Together we recline in the gentle current, watching the stars cross the sky above us.
He points out a shooting star, and I say, “You’re right. I’ve never seen a better show than this.”
His soft laugh rumbles beneath my ear. Reaching over, he plucks something from a nearby plant and lathers it between his hands.
“Oh, a soapberry!” I exclaim.
I watch, captivated. I’ve spent my life studying how humans use plants—for medicine, food, ceremony. But this—this is something else. An entirely different sentient species, with knowledge all its own. And I’m witnessing it firsthand.
He smiles at me as he works the lather into my hair.
I groan as he massages my scalp with his strong fingers, grateful to finally be washing away the remnants of his marking.
It had been intoxicating in the moment, but I was ready to be rid of the sticky, dried patches.
He seemed to suffer no such qualms, happily sporting spiky clumps of fur where I had marked him.