Woodson's Arc

Chapter 9 of 10

The owl dropped from the pines and glided toward the cave mouth. Woodson reached for his bow out of habit, then stopped. He knew the shape of it now. White feathers, wide eyes. Lunara's owl, come home. He lowered his hand and watched it climb the slope on the wind. Lunara stepped past him into the open. She held out her arm and the owl landed there, folding its wings. She stroked its head and murmured something Woodson could not hear. The bird turned its face toward her as if it understood. "He carries word for me," she said. "When the snow is deep, he flies far and sees what I cannot." Woodson stood close, one eye still on the trail below. "And what does he see?" Lunara listened to the owl a long moment. Then her calm broke. She smiled, wide and real, the way she rarely let herself. "A good winter," she said. "The berry bushes are heavy on the far ridge. The elk have moved down into the valley. There is meat enough to hunt through the cold months." She looked at him. "We will not go hungry here." Woodson had spent his life planning for the worst. A good winter was a plan he had never let himself make. He looked at the loaded slope, the safe trail, the woman with the owl on her arm. For once he had no bad outcome to guard against. "Then we stay," he said. "We hunt the elk. We pick the berries before the frost takes them." "We stay." Lunara set the owl on a branch by the entrance. It settled and closed its eyes. She turned back to him, and he did not wait this time. He pulled her in and kissed her. Her antlers brushed his hood and he did not care. She kissed him back, both hands on his face. They held each other in the cave mouth, in plain view of the whole valley, and Woodson let it happen anyway. He kissed her again and again. She laughed against his mouth. He hugged her tight and felt her breath. When they finally drew apart, Lunara pressed her forehead to his. "You are not watching the trail," she said. "No." He winked . "I’m watching you ~”