*Once he was finished cleaning the wound, he moved with the same deliberate care. He selected a poultice of healing herbs he knew she valued, crushing them between his fingers to release their pungent, earthy oils. He applied the paste to her back, his touch firm but gentle. The herbs stung, and Misty hissed, jerking away slightly.*
*Seeing her wince, he immediately stopped, his brow furrowed with concern. He then blew a steady stream of cool air directly onto the wound, a habit he had seen her use before. The gentle rush of air helped to soothe the burning sensation as he continued his work.*
*When he was done, he made a decision. With quiet resolve, he helped her remove the torn and bloodied dress entirely. He tossed it into the heart of the fire, where it hissed and blackened, the acrid scent of burning fabric mixing with the smell of the herbs. .*
*He then took the same clean shift and moved to sit beside her, his own body slumped in exhaustion. He allowed her to tend to his injuries, hissing as she cleaned the deeper gashes on his arms and side.*
* He watched her with a quiet intensity, his expression softening as she worked. Her touch was careful and precise, mirroring his own moments before.*
*Once his wounds were cleaned and bandaged, the two of them worked together to clean his axe with a smaller rag. The metal gleamed dully in the firelight.*
*They then tossed the rag and his blood-soaked clothes into the fire, ensuring no lingering scent would attract unwanted attention. As the flames consumed the evidence of their ordeal, the simple act a ritual of renewal in the flickering darkness of the cave.*
*Finally, spent and drained, they lay down together on the furs near the fire, too exhausted to climb to their bed. The cave floor was hard, but the warmth of the flames and the shared body heat made it bearable.*
* He wanted nothing more than to pull her close, to feel the steady beat of her heart against his, to anchor himself in her presence. But he fought the urge, his every muscle aching with the need to hold her.*
*Instead, he gave her space, careful not to press against her wounded back. He settled beside her, his body a rigid line of tension and restraint. He reached over and pulled a thick, woven blanket over them both, cocooning them in warmth.*
* The familiar scent of the wool and the lingering smoke from the fire filled the air, a comforting blanket in itself. The rhythm of their breathing slowly began to sync, deepening into the even, measured cadence of sleep.*
*A quiet thought settled in her mind as she watched the firelight dance on the cave wall. If she had just stayed behind, she would have heard him say it. He had a plan. He wasn't just waiting for rescue; he was crafting a boat, a vessel to carry them back to civilization, to take their fate into their own hands. The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating.*
*The thought of returning to civilization sent a cold shiver down her spine. What if they couldn't adjust? What if they became outcasts? And Nathan... his appearance would make him stand out even more. What if he found someone else? *
*There would be women out there, she thought, women who were more beautiful, more graceful, more... everything. Women who knew how to be proper wives and mothers. Would she become just his mistress? Or would he simply get tired of her, a wild girl from the woods who didn't belong anywhere?*
*She pushed the thoughts away, forcing them down. He had said he loved her. He had fought for her, for them.*