Page 102 of Bound

She tugged a root.

It gave easily.

Not the embankment, just the root itself.

She shouldn’t be so dramatic. See and expect the worst from every situation.

Every interaction.

She offered her handful of roots for a nearby grimble, who munched and nuzzled closer in search of more. “If I had to, would you let me bunk with all of you?”

A nibble at her palm, and she smiled.

She wouldn’t give up her home so easily, but it was nice to know she had somewhere else to go if these... thoughts... intended to intrude every time she had a conversation with her friend. Workman.

She smiled a little, if only to herself.

Maybe a grimble or two.

???

Braum was unnaturally quiet.

Not the pleasant stillness they occasionally shared between them underneath the tree at home. But a silent, oppressive sort of withdrawal that made her uneasy, made the part of her that... cared for him... want to smooth things.

She’d tried to be honest with him. Thought it would make matters easier. But she’d clearly insulted him along the way, which wasn’t her intention.

She’d said that, hadn’t she?

He’d come to walk with her. Before the first sun had even been a smudge on the horizon, he’d been there. Her porch was nearly finished—or it seemed that way to her. He kept hedging, pretending there was more to do, and he did always seem to find something to oil or smooth or there was also the secret work that he’d started on the other side of the pasture, the hesper guarding and overseeing his apparent mischief.

He had his tools with him, so it couldn’t be mischief. But he had one of his tarps that he’d used to cover it when he’d finished for the day, and then he’d ask her not to look. It was the wayhe asked that made her want to oblige him. Hopeful that she would listen. Resigned that she wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t want to work on special, secret things now. Not when he was too quiet and falling out of step with her.

Her throat was too tight, but she tried again, reiterating all she’d said before. Hoping it would mean something different this time. “I’m not trying to hide you,” she insisted. “I just... I’ve business with my father, and I’d rather take care of it myself.”

His eyes narrowed, but still, he said nothing.

Which only made her words come faster. “We are to go to his house,” she blurted, fingers in twisting about her braid, anxious about going. Anxious about even telling Braum about it.

His brow rose ever so slightly, and she huffed, her desire to please being culled by her burgeoning irritation. “Which is rather an event, because I haven’t been there before. And I’d rather...” Words failed her, and she closed her eyes, and he noticed because he was Braum, and his fingers curled about her elbow in time to pull her away from an errant tree root. She paused, the irritation dwindling as quickly as it had come. “I’d rather it be about that. Rather than... him asking questions about you. I don’t...” she looked at him, and if she was pleading with him, so be it. “It can’t be like with Firen. I can’t handle that again. Please.”

Perhaps she should have started with that, rather than the curt, blurted, “I’d rather you not meet my father.”

“A good market,” she finished, tugging at her hair and talking more to herself than to him. “I’ve had enough of these dramatic ones.”

Some of the tension left him. And if he did sigh, it was only a small one. And if his hand lingered on her elbow, she hadn’t actually thought to complain until it was gone again.

He offered no disagreement, but she kept glancing at him anxiously, waiting for him to give some kind of confirmation that he’d be gracious in her secrecy. She wasn’t ashamed of him. Not... not like the cad. But he would want to be introduced as her mate, and for all that she had softened toward him, she did not think herself capable of that.

And anything less would hurt him. Insult him.

She huffed, just a little. “Say something, please,” she entreated. “You are making me nervous.”

His head tilted and his brow rose. “I am simply listening. And walking.”

He had not meant it as any sort of pointed remark, yet she felt guilty for it all the same. He was making the long walk for her. Because she could not fly with him to the market.