I walked Nori back through the brush toward her family's den. Along the way, she peppered me with questions—why I traveled, where I was going next, whether it was fun, and if it ever got lonely.
I told her I traveled to help those who needed a hand, to appreciate the world as it revealed itself, and to learn by seeing life through others' eyes. Somewhere along the way, I'd gotten pretty good at this—being present, listening, offering words that eased burdens. All those spiritual and self-help books I used to organize back in the human world—books I read out of boredom or curiosity—had quietly shaped me more than I ever realized.
"But do you get anything in return?" she asked, eyes bright with curiosity. "By helping others and wandering like this?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "More than anything this world can offer. A full heart. New connections. Lessons that stay with me forever. Before all this, I never stopped to think about how comfortable my life was. Everything changed in an instant. Now, I'm grateful for even the smallest things."
She studied my face, as if searching for cracks, then looked ahead.
"I want to leave this place too," she admitted. "I always feel like there's more to life than these woods. I want to live. To enjoy it. That's why I thought… maybe if I used my beauty, one of those men could give me the life I deserve."
I understood that feeling too well.
"Never use others to fill your emptiness," I said gently. "It only leads to loneliness and regret. Try building the life you want on your own first. See how it makes you feel. If it fulfills you, keep going. If not, then change direction."
I wanted to tell her to trust me—but some lessons are best discovered, not handed down.
Before we knew it, we reached the den. Hanna embraced Nori tightly, tears of relief in her eyes, and thanked me again and again. They insisted I stay the night, and I accepted. I cleaned and treated my scratches with medicinal herbs and settled into a quiet corner.
Nori, however, had no intention of sleeping.
She curled up beside me and, like most teenagers, began firing off questions without pause.
"Do you love someone?" she asked suddenly.
I froze.
Love? What kind of love?
Ever since learning that Eriu and I were one, love had become vast and confusing. I felt it everywhere—without limits, without conditions. And yet… him. He slipped into my thoughts again, uninvited. Was what I felt love, or something else entirely?
"You don't have to answer," she said softly. "I was just wondering… is it true that when you meet the one, you give up everything?"
"Yes and no," I said after a moment. "Sometimes you give in too easily. And sometimes you hold on too tightly. But you should always save something for yourself."
Ah, youth. When love felt simple and exciting—before it became layered and painful and tangled. Back then, I imagined princes. Instead, I met kings… all carrying their own wounds.
Did that mean I never loved Gideon, since I never gave myself to him fully?
What about Rocco, Aron, Talon?
Was that love—or Eriu?
My heart and mind wrestled through the night. Between Nori's endless questions and my own thoughts, sleep never truly came.
⸻
Over the next few days, I met with the creatures Nori had promised herself to.
I explained—gently—that Nori hadn't meant to hurt anyone, that she was simply helping me, her dear friend, look for a possible mate. The porcupine was prickly but surprisingly reasonable. The lynx didn't care—he admitted he'd been playing the same game himself. The badger wanted to remain friends.
The jackal was different.
The moment he stepped close, his body stiffened. His eyes widened. He backed away slowly.
"You're already marked," he said, pointing at me. "Why are you looking for a mate?"
I was stunned. He could see Gideon's mark—when none of the others had.
Was it because they were closer in nature? Predators recognizing predators?
The jackal left without another word.
That left one.
The snake.
He agreed to meet in a hidden clearing filled with bluebells. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze, like waves across the sea. I watched my footing carefully, expecting scales, movement—something.
Instead, I heard footsteps.
I looked up and froze.
A man approached—green eyes sharp and unblinking, porcelain skin catching the light, black hair gleaming, his body fluid and perfectly composed. He stopped in front of me and stared, assessing.
"You're not the fox," he said coolly. "Where is she?"
"She couldn't come," I replied. "She wanted me to apologize for misleading you. She has no interest in seeing you—or anyone. She was playing."
I forced myself to meet his gaze.
Why did he feel so familiar?
"Vesper…" I whispered.
His lips curved. "So you do remember me. Funny how fate works. The more you avoid me, the more you find yourself standing in front of me."
I cursed myself for ever trusting this snake.
"Stay away from Nori," I said firmly. "She isn't your prey."
"And why should I listen to you?"
"Because we're friends," I blurted.
"Are we?" he asked. "You said we weren't the same. That you wanted nothing to do with me."
"We can be different and still be friends," I said, stumbling over the words.
He stepped closer, studying me.
"You're something else," he murmured. "But I came for the fox."
Fear spiked. Images of Nori's parents flashed through my mind.
"Take me instead," I said, steady despite my racing heart. "But I'll fight. And I might die before you get what you want."
He laughed—frustrated, amused.
"Why would you sacrifice yourself for someone who deceived others?"
"Because she's young," I said. "Because she made a mistake. Because she's loved. Why take what someone else cherishes?"
His jaw tightened. He brushed his fingers along my arm, then lightly across my lips.
"How do you make it so easy for me to stray from my nature?" he murmured. "I'll save a rare delicacy like you for last."
I didn't know whether to believe him or push him away.
"I'm leaving," he said finally. "Not because of you. Because this is starting to bore me."
And just like that, he was gone—as if he'd never been there at all.