Soren Everly could fell a pine in six clean strokes, but he could not think of one thing to give Cleo. Tomorrow was the courting day, and in Briarthorn a man came with a gift or he came looking like he didn't care. Soren cared. He cared so much his hands shook when he pictured her face. Cleo was the only person in town who didn't step back when he walked by. Everyone else smiled too wide and left too fast. She just looked at him steady, like he was ordinary. He wanted to keep that look forever. He searched his cottage by lamplight. He owned an axe, a whetstone, and a bunny who slept in his shirt pocket. None of it was a gift. He turned out his coin jar. Three coppers rolled across the table. The market had shut hours ago. Panic climbed his throat. A knock came at the door. Cleo stood on his step, arms folded against the cold. The bunny poked its head from his pocket and twitched its whiskers at her. "You've been pacing," she said. "I can see your shadow through the window." Heat flooded his face. "I was thinking." "About tomorrow." She stepped inside without waiting. She noticed the empty coin jar, the three coppers, the axe leaned by the hearth. "You don't have anything to bring." Soren's shoulders dropped. "No. And every shop is closed. I'll show up empty-handed and you'll think I forgot." He swallowed. "I didn't forget. I couldn't think of anything good enough." Cleo went quiet. She looked at the axe a long moment. "You carved that handle yourself." "It's just work." "It's not just work." She ran a finger along the wood. "There's a bird cut into the grip. Small. You'd miss it unless you held it." She turned to him. "Three years I've watched you make things with your hands and hand them off without a word. That's the gift. Not the market stuff." Soren stared. Nobody had said three years to him before. "Three years?" Cleo's steady look cracked, just a little. She'd said too much and knew it. "Carve me something," she said, fast. "Tonight. Anything. That's what I want to walk in holding tomorrow." Soren pulled a fresh block of birch from the woodpile. He didn't ask what to make. He picked up his knife and started, and the bunny watched from his pocket as curls of pale wood fell to the floor. By the time the candle burned low, a small rabbit sat in his palm, ears back, whiskers grooved deep. He held it out. Cleo took it in both hands and didn't say anything for a while. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and left with it pressed to her chest. Soren shut the door. He had his gift. And now he had a much larger problem. She'd said three years, and he finally understood he'd never once looked back.