Tara Runeweaver's Arc

Chapter 28 of 29

Morning light cut across the new wolf marker beyond the gate. Tara stood on the black bear skin laid out before the longhouse door, the twins bundled inside at the hearth. Bjorn had stayed close all night, shoulder to shoulder, but his arms had not yet reached for either child. She had counted the hours. She counted them still. She waited on the rug and watched him come up the path. He stopped at the threshold. Inside, the carved twin crib rocked gently by the fire, a small body in each cradle. His hand hovered at the doorframe. Tara did not speak. She had learned that silence could ask better than words. A pale shape moved at the edge of the trees. The white wolf sat in the snow, blue eyes fixed on Bjorn. It did not growl. It only watched, the way Tara watched, waiting to see what kind of father stood at the door. Bjorn stepped inside. He knelt at the crib and stared. His hands shook above the blankets. "They are so small," he said. "I will break them." Tara crossed the room and took his wrist. She guided his palm beneath their daughter's head, then lifted the child into his arms. He froze. Then his shoulders dropped, and he pulled the babe against his chest. He sat down hard on the furs and wept without sound. Tara placed their son in the crook of his other arm. Bjorn held them both and bent his head over them. He whispered their runes, the ones he had carved himself. Outside, the wolf rose and slipped back into the trees. Tara sat beside him and did not measure the silence this time. He had crossed. She had her answer. Whatever came next — the whispers, the elders, the long winter — he would carry the twins through it himself. She rested her open palm on his knee, and he did not look away.