The forest held its breath.
Violet moved through snow-dusted pines with practiced silence, each step deliberate. Her eyes scanned tracks half-buried by fresh powder—wolf prints, bear prints, the scattered impressions of three hundred souls moving north.
Behind her, the caravan rested in a sheltered hollow. Mothers tended children. Warriors bound wounds. The elderly huddled near small fires, conserving strength for the journey ahead.
But something felt wrong.
Bara had left an hour ago, claiming he needed to stretch his legs. A reasonable excuse—polar bears weren't built for prolonged stillness, and the massive warrior had been cooped up in the cave for days.
Except scouts were already ranging ahead. Eivor had taken the western route. Two young direwolves prowled the eastern ridge. There was no need for Bara to scout.
Unless he'd sensed something.
Violet's jaw tightened. She turned back toward camp, weaving between trees with growing urgency.
Kari stood near the edge of the hollow, head tilted, nostrils flaring.
"Kari," Violet called quietly.
The snow leopard's ears swiveled. "Something wrong?"
"Bara left. Said he was stretching, but—"
"That's strange." Kari's brow furrowed. "Scouts are already out. Why would he..." She paused, then inhaled deeply.
Her expression changed.
The casual curiosity hardened into something sharp and wary. Her claws extended reflexively.
"I see," Kari murmured. "That's why."
Violet's stomach clenched. "What? What is it?"
"Someone's here." Kari's voice dropped low. "Close. Within half a league, maybe less." She sniffed again, reading scents Violet couldn't perceive. "These Bears can smell prey from miles away.
Bara must've caught the scent before anyone else and went to investigate."
"Who? Soldiers? Hunters?"
"Don't know." Kari's tail lashed once. "But whoever it is..." Her face went grim. "Bara left in a hurry.
That battlecrazy bear doesn't rush unless he's found something worth fighting."
Or something dangerous enough to warrant speed.
The implication settled like frost in Violet's lungs.
They were close to Greyhollow now—less than a day's march.
If Bara encountered someone and reacted poorly, if violence erupted this close to the village—
Everything would collapse before it began.
"We need to find him," Violet said. "Now."
Kari nodded once. "Stay close. If there's a fight, don't interfere. Just run."
They moved through the forest like shadows—Kari's supernatural grace making no sound, Violet following in her wake as best she could.
The snow leopard's nose led them west, then north, tracking Bara's distinctive scent through frozen underbrush.
Minutes stretched. The trees grew denser, older. Light filtered down in pale shafts that caught on frost like captured stars.
Then Kari stopped.
Her hand shot out, pressing Violet back against a pine trunk. "There."
Through the trees ahead, a massive silhouette stood motionless.
Bara.
His back was to them, shoulders tense, head slightly lowered—the posture of a predator deciding whether to strike.
And before him—
Another figure.
Violet's heart lurched into her throat.
She couldn't see the figure clearly from this angle—just an outline partially obscured by Bara's bulk and the intervening branches.
But something in the stance, the way the person held their weight—
Recognition slammed into her like a physical blow.
She didn't need to see his face. Didn't need confirmation.
She knew.
"Papa."
The word left her lips as barely more than breath.
Then she was moving.
Kari hissed a warning—"Violet, wait!"—but she didn't stop.
Her feet carried her forward through snow and shadow, stumbling over roots she didn't see, ducking branches that caught at her cloak.
Bara's head turned at the sound of her approach, eyes widening.
Garrett shifted his stance, hand moving toward the axe on his back—
Violet burst into the clearing and crashed into him with enough force to stagger them both.
Her arms wrapped around his waist. Her face pressed against his chest.
His coat smelled of pine smoke and leather and home.
For one heartbeat, Garrett stood frozen—caught between instinct and recognition.
Then his arms came up, enfolding her carefully, one hand cradling the back of her head.
"Littlebird," he murmured.
That was all.
Just that one word, rough and warm and real.
Something inside Violet broke.
Not shattered—just cracked open, releasing pressure she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Tears came before she could stop them. Hot and shameful and impossible to contain.
She began sobbing. Loudly, she might be a life older but for now, she was still his little daughter....
She stood there trembling while her eyes burned and her throat closed around words she couldn't speak.
In his arms, the weight of everything—
Kael's death.
The battle.
The walk through mountains.
The sail under sea.
The struggle through forest.
The desperate gamble of bringing hundreds of wounded refugees to a village that might not accept them.
All of it pressed down at once.
But his arms held steady.
"I've got you," Garrett said quietly. "You're safe."
Violet's fingers clenched in his coat, holding on like he might disappear if she loosened her grip.
For this moment—just this one stolen moment before reality crashed back in—she let herself be small again.
Let herself be protected instead of protector.
Let herself rest.
Behind them, Kari emerged from the trees with careful steps.
Her eyes swept the scene—Bara standing tense and ready, Garrett holding Violet with the fierce gentleness of a father who'd thought his daughter lost, the tears staining the girl's face.
The snow leopard's expression softened slightly.
"So," she said quietly. "This is your father."
Garrett's gaze lifted, meeting Kari's without flinching.
His hand never left Violet's head.
"And you are?"
"Kari. Ma'ar of the Snow Leopards." She inclined her head fractionally—not a bow, but acknowledgment. "Your daughter saved my people."
Garrett's eyes returned to Violet.
He didn't ask questions.
Didn't demand explanations.
Just stood there holding her while the forest watched and snow began to fall again, soft and silent.
Finally, Violet pulled back slightly. Not leaving Garrett's arms, just enough to look up at his face.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. Tears still clung to her lashes.
But when she spoke, her voice was steady.
"Papa," she said. "I need to ask you something."
Garrett's weathered face didn't change. He waited.
"The people I brought with me..." Violet paused, choosing words carefully. "There are three hundred of them. Beastkin. Refugees from the Valley of Winds."
She took a breath. "They need sanctuary. Somewhere safe to settle while they recover from—" Her voice caught. "—from war."
Garrett's eyes never left hers.
"Where?" he asked simply.
"Greyhollow." The word felt heavy. "Or near it. Somewhere close enough that we can help each other when winter comes."
"When the Winterbeast comes," Garrett corrected quietly.
Violet nodded.
He studied her face for a long moment—reading things she hadn't said, piecing together story from scars and shadows.
"That might not be possible...." Garrett sighed...