—You and the girl stay here. When it gets light, we’ll see what to do.
Talia stared at the flames for a long time. Then she murmured something that didn’t sound like empty gratitude, but like naked truth:
—No white man had ever done this for us.
Calder shrugged, uncomfortable with any gesture of admiration.
—I didn’t do anything special. I just did the right thing.
But that night, as winter continued to roar on the other side of the walls, the two understood something that neither dared to name yet: the storm had not come to separate them from the world, but to confront them with something that was going to change their lives.
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And although both were still covered in wounds, a kind of warmth began to grow in that cabin that didn’t come only from the fire.
PART 2
That night, with Nami asleep and the wind still rattling the roof, Talia spoke. She spoke plainly, without seeking sympathy, like those who have suffered too much to waste their strength on empty rhetoric. She told Calder that her village had been attacked, that the elderly, the children, anyone who couldn’t flee had been killed, and that she had hidden Nami under some bushes before running off in another direction so they would follow her. She wanted to save her, even if it meant dying alone in the snow. When she managed to return, the girl was gone. She had spent two days searching for her without food, without rest, her body broken and her mind on the brink of collapse.
Calder didn’t interrupt her. He just listened.
Then he told her something Talia didn’t know she needed to hear:
—You did what any mother would do. And it worked. Your daughter is here.
The next morning, the storm eased a little. Nami could already eat a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, and every time Calder brought her the cup or adjusted her blanket, Talia watched him with a new mixture in her eyes. It wasn’t just watching over her anymore. It was respect.
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