Ones he had carried far too long.
Alone.
Perhaps not fully. Perhaps the Aarden had rallied about him, mindful of the son he had lost too soon, uncertain of how long it would be before his return.
It was a debt that Grimult felt most acutely, one he had not even dared confess to Penryn. She would tell him that he had paid it in full, that he had seen to the safety of them all, whether or not they realised the extent of it.
Maybe that was true.
Or maybe it was merely the draw he felt to his family’s land, to work alongside members of his own clan, small though they were, forgotten by many. Tending to their needs in return, a reciprocal give and take with tangible things.
Homes to be built and expanded when fledglings grew and needed rooms of their own.
Shelters for the animals that continued to grow in population.
New dwellings for freshly wedded couples.
Not stilted, as was the custom when homes were made inland and away from the rocky cliffs. But on the ground, so his wife could walk outside whenever she wished. A way down could be made, he supposed. With strips of wood within easy foothold so she could climb with relative ease.
He tried to imagine it, most especially when she was heavy and rounded with child, and quickly dismissed the notion.
A house on the ground. Where there would be no trial for her to live as she wished, to do as she pleased.
Where there was sun and fresh breezes, and a welcome fire to warm her at night.
And a bed large enough for the both of them.
“What has you so pleased?” Penryn asked, peering at him rather than seeking out first sight of his herd.
He pulled her close and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I am planning our home,” he confessed. “Like the cottage, I should think. Since it served us so well.” He eyed her carefully. He did not wish to see her hurt, did not want to remind her of painful moments of her past. He did not ease his hand across her shoulder blades, although the urge was frequently there when he wanted to give comfort to old wounds, to soothe the scars she bore with all the affection she had so long been denied.
Penryn blinked, evidently not expecting such a suggestion.
She bit her lip, as was her wont when she was uncertain, and gave him a sceptical glance. “That would not be fair to you,” she hedged. “You should live as your people do, and I can manage well enough if we...”
He stopped walking and took her face between his palms, the better to hear and be understood. “I do not want you to manage in your own home. It is not burden to me to have my dwelling on the ground, but it would be for you should the plan be reversed.” She did not flinch, but there was a sadness there all the same. Perhaps it would always come when she remembered what she could not have. Or perhaps it would ease with time. When she saw how good their life could be.
Would be.
With enough effort.
And a few modifications.
Others might scoff. Might whisper that only beasts slept on the ground, and to lower oneself was a debasement.
But the strangeness of it would fade, with time.
Their gratitude might even come when they realised all Penryn had sacrificed for their sakes.
There had been no hiding the histories. Not when the tribe had told of their tale and Penryn had faithfully translated their rendering for all to hear. The sage had been less than pleased, threatening her with all sorts of curses and punishments before Rezen had silenced him with a wallop to the back of his head with the flat of his palm, and a promise of more if he did not allow Penryn to speak freely.
They had nearly come to further blows, but the sage had grown silent.
Sullen, to Grimult’s mind, but he had kept silent on the matter.
Some might choose not to believe it. To carry on as if there were no wingless people within the borders of the forbidden lands.
Some might acknowledge it and care even less, for it mattered little to their daily lives.
To the initiates...
Grimult had spoken to them privately. They would stand ready, would not forget their training, and be ready to be called upon if necessary in the future. Boundaries were always tested, treaties perfected through time and possibly, through bloodshed.
And while Grimult was proud of the truce that had been concocted between their two peoples, he would not pretend that all would go smoothly forever.
And they would be ready, if they were needed.
He still held his wife steady, and her eyes had slipped closed, evidently expecting that his pronouncement of their future dwelling should be sealed with a kiss.
And he was hardly in a position to deny her.
He lingered longer than he had dared in many days, allowing his hand to slip into the soft hair at the nape of her neck, already working to escape the confines of the long plait behind her.
And would have perhaps tarried even longer, except the bellows of the herd were suddenly closer, and it was Penryn that slipped away, her excitement almost palpable.
There, on the top of the knoll. Their hair was already growing longer in preparation for the cold seasons, shaggy as it curled in places, leaving long locks about their stomachs, their horned heads raised as they peered cautiously down toward the newcomers.
He had not let himself miss them. Not really. His family, yes, when the feelings welled he did not deny them. But the farm, the animals he cared for... he pushed thoughts of them aside and did not dwell there. His
