Bearclaw Valley saw death on a sunny snow

her kiss, fleeting but fervent, burns against his neck even as the cold wind licks it away. he does not move to stop her as she steps back, though every instinct in his body screams for him to pull her close, to hold her until the uncertainty in her voice is gone. but he cannot. not when he knows, deep down, that her heart is torn in two directions, and he may not be the one it chooses. his gaze lingers on her and the storm within him veiled behind eyes that search hers for answers. she looks down, and he wonders if she can feel the same ache that throbs in his chest. her words haunt him—even when you are far away, my spirit will be with you. they sound like a promise, but they feel like a farewell.

he exhales sharply, a quiet huff of breath that clouds the air between them. if you’ve made your choice, rala, he begins, tell me. say the word, and i’ll step aside. his head dips slightly, almost a bow, as though to emphasize the sincerity of his offer. dolce can have your heart, if that’s where it belongs. i won’t fight him for it. i won’t fight you for it. the words taste bitter on his tongue, but he forces them out because he knows she deserves honesty. because he knows that if he pushes, if he tries to claim her, it will only drive her further away. he straightens slightly, though his muscles burn with resolve as he awaits her answer.

but if you’re not sure—if there’s a chance, even the smallest chance, that i could be the one you choose—then tell me that too. let me stay. he lets his gaze drift back to hers, the weight of his confession heavy in the space between them. i’ll wait, if you need me to. i’ll give you the time to decide. he finally addresses her question, though his voice is quieter now, almost an afterthought. my injuries don’t matter, not compared to this. the sting of the coyotes’ bites and scratches is nothing against the sharp pain of standing before her with his heart exposed and knowing it might not be enough.