Baring the Thorn (The Mountain Tribe #3)

Chapter 21

M y female is exhausted, and my body still needs rest to recover, so we wearily agree to sleep and leave more talking for another time.

Samara curls up beside me, tucking her head in the crook of my neck and shoulder, fitting against me as though we are two pieces whittled from the same branch, and falls asleep quickly.

I do not disturb her, but there is a restless energy in me that will not allow for me to tumble into deep, dreamless sleep the way she does.

It is strange to be this far north again, to recognize the thicker, darker trees around us as the same that crowded around me as a boy and to taste the familiarity in the cold bite of wind.

Anxiety spikes with the knowledge that if Hawk were to bring back his whole tribe, if he were to descend on us, I could not defend my female.

Reflexively, my arms tighten around her, and I glance around the camp until I spot her pack nearby. Mine must have been destroyed from the attack, that or she could not have carried it, so I do not waste any time missing its contents.

I am able to reach for one of Samara’s knives from my place in the furs and tuck it against me. She sleeps so deeply that she does not rouse.

But I must use my bad arm, and the pain that shoots through my body in protest of the movement causes me to bite back a shout.

But with the knife tucked against my side, I am able to quiet some of the worry.

At least I will be armed.

Hawk returns shortly after, and I am surprised to see that he is alone, and simply carries more wood for the fire. He does not glance at us as he approaches, but I pull Samara closer as a fierce surge of protectiveness tears through me.

“Calm yourself, brother,” Hawk says. “I have no intentions of harming your female.”

I grit my teeth. “How many times must I ask you not to call me brother?”

He raises his eyes and meets mine through the darkness.

It dawns on me how different he looks from when we were boys, how the angles of his face are sharper, and his body has grown long and lithe. But he looks like his father now, less like a child and more like the unfeeling, cold gaze that haunts my dreams.

“I thought you died that day, Leif,” Hawk says after a long moment of silence, his hands on the fire and his expression devoid of any emotion.

Is he trying to push me further into anger? Is he trying to get a response from me? The use of my old name is like a blow to my head, and my stomach jerks with discomfort at the sound of it.

“I did,” I tell him, and it is the truth.

I am not that boy anymore, frightening and bleeding out into pure white snow.

I am a man with a tribe of my own, with a female, a future. Leif is dead, and Thorn is who I am now, who I have made myself to be. Thorn is the man who has built a tribe, a community, from the ground up, who holds his soft female against himself now and vows to provide for her, who is brave enough to tackle a bear.

“Then I cannot convince you and your female to return with me,” Hawk asserts.

The idea is so horrifying that I have to fight a growl, as if I am a beast cornered.

I take a steadying breath and glare across the fire, spitting my words out, “Nothing could convince me to put her at risk. Nothing could be worth returning to the northern tribe.”

“You do not know the tribe anymore,” he argues. “It has been countless seasons since you left us. Everything has changed.”

“Nothing changes if your father still leads.”

“My father died many years past,” Hawk’s expression is distant, as though his eyes focus on the past, looking far beyond me and the camp and this night. “I lead now. And I invite you only because your female is a healer.”

That gives me pause.

In the northern tribe, healers are born of the same lineage and taught by their parent. There was a healer the same age as me when I was young, and she showed much promise in her teachings.

“You do not have your own?”

For perhaps the first time in our discussion, a flicker of emotion passes over Hawk’s face like a dark shadow. I remember that he was close with the healer. “Not anymore. I ask you to come for my people, Thorn, not because I want to harm you. Samara is needed by my tribe.”

“As she is needed by my own,” I tell him, with finality.

I glance down at her, still sound asleep, and use a tender hand to brush a lock of curls off her peaceful face. She is needed by my tribe, with her females, and she is needed by me, desperately, endlessly.

I cannot leave my tribe, and she cannot leave my side, or I would tear apart the forest to bring her back to me.

“You are a leader too?” Hawk awaits more information, and when I do not supply any, he adds, “I am… happy that you have found others, and that you have a home. I mourned your loss when I thought you dead, Leif.”

This turn of the conversation is uncomfortable, and I do not wish to continue discussing my past life, my cold, miserable childhood with a tribe that left me for dead.

My memories of that day swirl with thick agony and blunt terror, and try as I do, I cannot place where Hawk was, what part he played. We had only been boys, and I think he may have cried at his father’s side, too frightened to say anything. But was it him or another?

I cannot make sense.

The details now are foggy with all the time that has passed, and the parts that stand out sharply in my mind do not concern him.

“Being a leader has granted me clarity,” I say. “It has shown me the scarcity, and the endless value, of human life.”

Hawk understands what I am saying without having to speak it aloud.

He hangs his head in something akin to shame, “For me, as well. I cannot…make peace with my father’s choices. All I can do is make different ones.”

I respect him for this, even if I cannot ever make peace with all that has happened in the past between us. I change the direction of our conversation.

“You have looked after Samara for me while I was sick,” I emphasize this with a touch of my thumb over the female’s shoulder, possessive but tender. I do not need to tell him that we belong to each other, as it is already clear. “Thank you.”

“She tells the truth,” Hawk smirks, “it was only three days ago that she found me. And I have done little for her besides hunt. She kept you alive and carried you across the entire mountain range on a stretcher.”

My throat is thick with emotion.

What other male is as lucky as I am? What other male has such a fiercely loyal, strong, competent female as me?

I am in awe of her, not just as a partner but as a person, as a female who mere weeks ago was frightened of the forest. She has been in this time for less than a season and yet she surges forward with bravery.

There are hunters I have known my whole life who could never do what she did for me.

I gaze down at my Samara, moved by all that she has done.

“It can steal your breath, can it not?” Hawk asks softly. “What feeling they inspire in us.”

For the first time since we were boys, I am forced to agree with him.