Aldric Fenrir's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The rain kept falling. Aldric stood on the porch of the little cottage, dripping, while the girl watched him from behind the half-open red door. She had let him this far and no farther. Her name he did not know yet, but he knew her scent, and he knew he could not force his way past her fear. So he did not try. He sat down on the wet boards, his back to the door, and looked out at the storm. A man twice her size made smaller by choice. He heard her breath catch. She had expected him to push. He did the opposite. "Nice cottage," he said. "Somebody planted every one of these flowers by hand." The flower boxes hung heavy with rain-battered blooms. The girl said nothing. But the door did not close. "My mother kept a garden," Aldric went on, keeping his voice slow. "She said flowers only grow for people who stay. Whoever lived here stayed a long time." Behind him, the girl spoke. Barely a whisper. "My granny planted them." Aldric held still. "She has a good hand." "Had." The word broke a little. "She died. Three weeks ago." Now he understood the empty cottage he had found days south of here. The grief. The sickness. She had run from that house to this one, chasing the last place that felt like her granny's love. Aldric kept his eyes on the rain so she would not feel watched. "I'm sorry," he said. "You buried her alone?" "There was no one else." A pause. "Everyone I knew was her." Aldric swallowed. Ten years he had searched for this scent. He had imagined finding a woman who would know him. Instead he had found a girl with no one left in the world. That changed what he wanted. Not to claim her. To help her. "I lost my father the same way," he said. "Nobody warns you how loud a house gets when it's quiet." The door creaked wider. He turned his head, slow. She stood there, apron damp, brown eyes red at the edges. She was looking at him now, not past him, not toward the woods. "You're soaked through," she said. "You'll get sick out here." "I've had worse." "Come in." She stepped back to make room. "Granny wouldn't have left a dog on the porch. She wouldn't want me to either." Aldric rose careful and slow. He crossed the doorway into the warm little cottage. A fire burned low. Dried herbs hung from the beams. Everything smelled of her and the woman who raised her. "I'm Elara," she said. "Aldric." She nodded and turned to the fire, no longer guarding the door. She trusted him enough to let him in. But she trusted him as a stranger in a storm, not as the man fate had bound her to. He had crossed the threshold. Now he had to keep her from learning the truth too fast, before she was ready to hear it.