Damar leaned back, pulling me with him into the mountain of sheep's wool and feathers. It was such a peaceful time, as it was just us. Well, us and Lyra, of course, haha.
"You smell like him," Damar whispered, his nose brushing against my temple. "The sea."
"And you smell like bitter roots and silver," I countered, turning my face into his neck. "I think it's a fair trade."
He didn't respond, but I felt his arm wrap around my waist under the furs, pulling me to him. Lyra let out a tiny, soft snore between us, her little emerald eyes closing for a nice morning shut-eye.
As the morning sun climbed higher, casting a warm, golden glow over the limestone floors, the sounds of the valley below—the rhythmic slapping of beaver tails and the distant shouts of the wolf scouts—began to feel like a dream.
Just when I thought I could close my eyes to sleep for just a bit before I go back to check on Thalor, Damar spoke.
