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by
Ruby Dixon
Read between
August 24 - August 24, 2025
I should tell her a great many things, but they all fly out of my head, thoughts scattering like startled dirt-beaks, because my khui begins to sing when she narrows her blue eyes at me and frowns, her hand over her own heart.
“My mate. I should have known,” he says in a low voice, his eyes bright. “Such a little fighter.”
But you are my mate, even if we have not yet touched, and I will do whatever I can to make you happy. If you do not like the food, I will bring new foods for you. If you are cold at night, I will bring you furs. If you are lonely or sad, I want to comfort you.”
It does not matter that my intentions were good, only that I have done the same thing to them that so many others have done.
My mate considers the rows of huts and then points at one on the far end of the village, at the outskirts. She wants to be away from everyone. Somehow I knew that.

