Bara and Kari stood at the pass entrance, watching as Violet prepared to leave with her father.
"We'll move everyone by evening," Kari said. "Small groups. Quiet. No fires during daylight."
Violet nodded. "I'll visit soon. Check on the wounded. Bring supplies if I can."
Bara's massive hand landed gently on her head—a gesture that would have crushed a normal child, but he was careful. "You've done enough, Rest first."
"I will." Violet looked between them. "Thank you. For trusting me."
"We should be thanking you," Kari said quietly. Her face softened slightly. "You've saved us all and gave us home."
Violet's throat tightened, she didn't had any words to answer gratitude.
Garrett cleared his throat. "Evening, then.
Be careful, No hunting near the village—people will notice if game disappears. Use the northern forest. It's denser."
They nodded.
"And keep the children quiet," Garrett added. "Unknown noises will only create rumours and tension, Especially at night."
"Understood," Kari said.
Bara crossed his arms. "We've hidden from worse than nervous villagers. We'll manage."
Garrett studied him for a moment.
Then he nodded once and turned.
Violet followed.
Behind them, the pass swallowed Kari and Bara like the forest swallowing shadows. Within seconds, they were gone—as if they'd never existed at all.
The forest stretched before them. The same dry branches.
The same snow crunching underfoot.
The same faded game trails Violet had walked her entire life.
But everything felt different now.
***
Violet's POV
I walked with Papa, holding his hand.
His grip was warm through my mittens. Steady. Real.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
The silence between us was comfortable—not empty, just settled.
Like snow after it stops falling and the world goes quiet.
My feet found the path without thinking. Muscle memory from years of following Papa on hunts, of sneaking out to practice magic, of running through these woods in both lives.
I didn't realize we'd arrived until Papa stopped walking.
The cottage, stood before us.
Small and old.
Smoke curling from the chimney in lazy spirals.
Light glowing warm through the shuttered windows.
Home.
The word felt strange. Too simple for what I felt looking at it.
"Let's go," Papa said quietly. "She's waiting."
He moved forward and opened the door. Warmth spilled out—the smell of stew and woodsmoke and lavender soap.
I stood outside, frozen.
My feet wouldn't move. My chest felt too tight. Like something was pressing down on my ribs.
I was nervous,
"Violet." Papa's voice was gentle. "Come inside."
I took a long breath. Held it. Released it slowly.
Then stepped over the threshold.
"Welcome back!" Mama's voice drifted from the kitchen—warm, familiar, not yet realizing it wasn't just Papa returning from a hunt.
My chest tightened further.
I opened my mouth. "I'm home."
The words came out smaller than I intended.
Quieter.
Mama turned from the stove.
For one heartbeat, she just stared. Like her mind couldn't process what her eyes were seeing.
Then the ladle slipped from her fingers, clattering against the pot's edge before falling to the floor with a dull thud.
She crossed the room in three quick steps and pulled me into her arms so tightly I couldn't breathe.
"Littlebird," she whispered into my hair. Her voice cracked. "My littlebird. My baby."
Her whole body was shaking.
I hugged her back. My arms wrapped around her waist, face pressed against her apron. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them—hot and shameful and impossible to contain.
She smelled like flour and herbs and home. Like safety. Like every good memory from both lives compressed into one person.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Shh." Her hand stroked my hair. "Don't. Don't apologize. You're here. That's what matters."
She held me for a long moment—shaking slightly, hands gripping my shoulders like I might disappear if she let go, face buried in my hair.
Behind us, I heard Papa close the door quietly.
Heard him move to the fireplace. The scrape of wood as he added another log.
Finally, Mama pulled back. Her eyes were red. Her cheeks were wet.
She cupped my face with both hands, thumbs brushing away my tears.
"Let's talk later," she said, voice thick but steadying. "Go freshen up. Food is ready. You must be starving."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
She let me go, swiping at my hair one more time—smoothing it down the way she used to when I was smaller.
I slipped past her toward my room.
The space was exactly as I'd left it. Small. Simple. The bed with its worn quilt.
The trunk where I kept my few possessions. The window that looked out toward the forest.
I stood there for a moment, just breathing. Letting the familiar settle over me like a blanket.
Then I washed my face in the basin, changed into clean clothes, and returned to the main room.
***
Dusk came softly while we ate.
Violet sat at the table— their old wooden table with its scratches and stains and memories—and ate slowly.
Savoring each bite.
Root vegetables and rabbit meat and herbs she'd grown herself.
Questions hung in the air between them, but it wasn't the time.
Garrett and Maria just watched her eat. Relief written clear on both their faces.
They were happy she was home.
That was enough for now.
After dinner, she grabbed my old thick cloak from the hook by the door and prepared to check on the Beastkin.
She wanted to make sure they had settled in. Make sure everything was good.
"Where are you going?" Maria asked, looking up from washing dishes.
"Just checking on friends," Violet said carefully.
"Oh." Maria expression brightened slightly. "Most of the village kids should be home by now, but I suppose some might still be out playing." She moved toward the shelf where she kept small treats. "Do you want something to give them? Honey cakes, maybe? It would be a nice gesture..."
Violet blinked. "Um—well... okay."
She didn't know about the Beastkin.Of course she didn't. Violet kept her quiet.
She glanced at herPapa. He was suddenly very interested in sharpening his knife—back turned, shoulders slightly hunched.
Avoiding eye contact.
He knew. He knew exactly what would happen if Maria found out where she had really been.
If she learned she had been traveling with hundreds Beastkin refugees.
After a battle, where there violence and blood.
It would turn into a lecture about safety around strangers.
About wandering too far from home.
About all the things mothers worry about when their daughters disappear for weeks without word.
And her lectures could last hours.
She opened my mouth to explain—or deflect, or something—
A knock at the door shattered the moment.
Sharp. Urgent. Not the polite tap of a neighbor.
The room went still.
"Who's here at this hour?" Maria frowned, setting down the dish she'd been drying.
Violet and Garrett went rigid simultaneously. Both thinking the same thing—
Calla.
Had she come early? Had something happened? Had someone told her about the Beastkin?
Violet'shand moved instinctively toward the knife at my belt.
While Garrett hand went to his axe.
Maria noticed neither.
She was already walking toward the door, wiping her hands on her apron.
She opened it slowly, cautiously.
A grey-haired boy burst inside like a small storm.
"Violet! Where did you go?!" Vael grabbed my shoulders, grey eyes bright with relief and worry and barely contained energy. "You just left without saying anything! Kari and Bara are moving everyone and I thought—I thought maybe soldiers had found you, or you'd gotten hurt, or—"
"What did I tell you about personal space, Vael?" Violet tried to push him back, but he wasn't listening.
His tail was wagging. His ears were forward. He was talking too fast, words tumbling over each other.
"—and then Bara said you went home with your father but I didn't believe him because why would you leave without telling me and—"
Behind me, Garrett entire demeanor changed.
His hand moved toward his axe.
His eyes had gone flat.
A boy, in his home.
Touching his daughter.
"Papa, wait—" I started.
Mama stood frozen in the doorway.
She stared at Vael. At his grey hair. His wolf ears pressed flat against his skull.
His tail still wagging despite the tension. His claws gripping my shoulders.
Her face went through several expressions in rapid succession—surprise, confusion, fear, then something harder to read.
She looked at me. Then at Papa. Then back at Vael.
"Violet," she said slowly. Carefully. Like she was defusing something dangerous. "Who is this?"