The days after the new arrivals passed quickly, not because they were uneventful, but because the weight of survival was always heavier than the passing of time.
Kaoshi moved through the rhythms of her routine with practiced ease—gathering, mending, cooking, caring. She was strong now, stronger than she had ever been in her former world, or even in her earliest days within this one. The fear that had once clung to her skin like ash had long been washed away by sweat, grit, and purpose.
Still, as she stirred a pot of thick stew one gray morning, she found herself glancing toward the cave entrance more often than usual.
Jinling hadn't come back yet.
He had only gone out to barter for salt and firewood—an errand he'd done countless times—but today, her chest felt tight. Not panicked. Not even anxious, exactly. Just...restless. Her hand slowed over the pot. The wooden spoon hung idle as she realized her thoughts were circling him again.
When had this started?
It wasn't just gratitude anymore. It wasn't even just the security he provided. Something quieter had grown between them—soft as moss and just as steady. He'd never asked for anything from her. And yet, each day he brought something—extra meat for the cubs, rare herbs she might like, a carved tool she hadn't known she needed.
He noticed everything. Even things she didn't say aloud.
The stew bubbled softly. Behind her, she heard tiny feet.
"Mama," Chow Chow said sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she entered the room.
Kaoshi turned and smiled, brushing a strand of fur from her daughter's face. "Morning, sleepy tail."
"Is Big Male not back yet?" Chow Chow asked, already climbing into her usual spot near the fire.
Kaoshi hesitated. "Not yet."
Chaoang and Chao Lie followed soon after, both of them unusually quiet. Even they sensed something.
But just before midday, Kaoshi finally heard the sound of measured footsteps outside. Jinling entered, snow trailing from his boots, wind in his hair, and a bundle of supplies balanced against one shoulder. He looked tired, but whole.
He met her eyes immediately, as if he'd known she'd be watching. "Sorry I'm late."
"You're not late," she said—too quickly. Then she turned back to the stew to hide her expression.
Jinling put down the bundle beside the wall, kneeling to help the cubs sort through the dried roots and folded pelts. Chao Lie, ever the cautious one, handed Jinling a carved stone bead.
"Made it," he muttered. "So you'll know where our house is."
Jinling took it in his large hand and studied it with all the seriousness of a sacred relic. "Thank you, Chao Lie."
Kaoshi smiled quietly at the scene. She didn't interrupt.
—
That afternoon passed with the usual chores, until a soft rain began to fall. The world beyond their cave blurred into a gray curtain, and everyone slowly migrated inside.
Kaoshi had gathered some of the bark she'd soaked earlier to weave into containers, but her fingers weren't cooperating. She was too aware of Jinling's presence nearby—sitting just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He was sharpening a bone blade in slow, careful strokes, but she knew he wasn't focused on the tool.
"Kaoshi," he said at last.
She looked up, startled by the softness of his tone.
"Yes?"
"You haven't smiled much today."
She blinked. "I have."
"Not the way you usually do."
She set down her bark and exhaled. "I was...thinking. About a lot of things."
He didn't press her.
"I don't know how we got here," she said after a moment. "From starving in the snow to this."
"You made it happen," Jinling said. "You kept your cubs alive. You didn't give up."
"And you helped us. You kept us alive too."
"I didn't do it for a reward," he said.
"I know."
Their eyes met.
For a moment, the fire crackled louder than their thoughts.
Jinling glanced away first, staring into the flames. "Kaoshi... I still want to be your mate. But I won't ask again unless you want me to."
She felt her heart clench unexpectedly.
The words were gentle. But they were final.
She swallowed hard. "I—"
Not yet. She couldn't say it yet.
So instead, she gave a small nod. "Thank you for not giving up."
Jinling smiled faintly, but didn't speak again.
They sat in silence. But something new had taken root between them—unspoken, but undeniable.
Kaoshi didn't need to touch him to feel it. It was in his presence, his patience. The way he never demanded. The way he simply...stayed.
Later, as the cubs slept and the fire dimmed, Kaoshi lay awake. She stared at the flickering shadows on the ceiling and whispered to herself what she couldn't say aloud.
"I think... I love him."
Then she turned her face into the blanket and finally allowed herself to sleep.