***
Olea sat at the table Bo had crafted for the new cottage he built in the first year of their union, her hand on her growing belly as she stared at the hearth. Bo sat on the other side, sharpening his knife. The only sounds in the cabin were the crackling of the fire and the sound of Bo’s knife as he struck it against the whet stone in a practiced rhythm.
“Bo, I know you won’t age like me,” she said without warning. Bo looked up at her from the other side of the table, his eyes wide with surprise, his carving knife poised for another strike against the stone. Olea only gazed down at her belly with loving eyes. “In only five years I can see that.”
“Yes?”
“So, how much older are you than I?” Olea asked.
Bo sighed and put his blade and stone on the table. “You are of five and twenty years, correct?” Olea nodded, eyes shining with curiosity. “I am only about ten years ahead of you.”
“Ten! You look no further than three.”
Bo shrugged. “That’s when I stopped seeming to age.”
“Well, then, will you outlive me?”
“Surely.”
“Our child?”
Bo nodded.
“And further?”
Bo finally looked away, his hazel eyes dark. “I will live for a very, very long time if it is only age that tries to take me.”
“But you don’t want to?”
Bo met her gaze, his hazel eyes level with her brown ones. “If I were to die, and our child after comparatively few years, would you want to continue to live?”
Olea broke eye contact this time, giving another motherly glance at her belly. “I suppose not. No; I know I would not.” Bo sat back in his chair with a sigh and put a hand through his long hair. “But Bo, you could watch over our children,” Olea suggested. He tilted his head, and she laughed at how he looked like a wondering puppy.
“What do you mean, Olea?”
“I mean, you can watch our children after I am gone. And their children after them. You can be a family protector,” she insisted. Bo leaned forward and put his elbow on the table, his human hand holding his chin as he thought.
“It would be a long time before you saw me again.”
“I would wait. I am patient. And I could watch over you.”
“I’d miss you,” Bo admitted after a moment, an apologetic smirk on his face.
“And I would miss you,” Olea agreed. “But you’d see us both in every child, if you looked. So you could always see me, whenever you wanted to.” Bo’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“How did I end up with such a lovely woman?” he asked.
“You asked,” Olea replied with a grin.
Bo stood and leaned over the small table to give her a peck on the forehead. “And I received. I’ll be back in time for dinner,” he said as he stood back and donned his two cloaks.
“Going hunting?”
“Of course. How do you feel about rabbit for tomorrow?”
“I feel like it would go wonderfully with some fresh vegetables if they’d grow quickly enough.”
“We’ve only just finished planting the seeds. It might be a while before we get anything worth eating.”
“I know. But you did ask how I felt about rabbit.” Her eyes sparkled playfully in the light of the candle that sat on the table.
Bo grinned. “I’ll be back soon.” And he opened the door to head out.
True to his word, Bo was back by dinnertime. His silver hand carried two rabbits as he walked back into his grove. He put the prey in the little shed, glancing over at his old house. It was tiny, with hardly enough room to stretch. It was also quite pitiful in appearance, with a barrier of branches as a door and cracks everywhere.
Inside he’d had a small place for his pelt-bed, a place to pace, and a chair to sit on while he carved whatever he needed along with the little figures that he crafted to talk to from time to time. He’d taken the chair to the new home. The little figures were long burned—often the night they were made—though Bo had made a few for Olea now.
He turned away to look over at his new home. It was a stark contrast to the little hovel he’d built. This home was far larger: with room enough for a bed of hide, an area to cook indoors, a place to sit and eat, and room enough to dance on Olea’s whim.
It held a stew pot and fireplace, and Bo had made a table and another chair. Any cracks in the walls were filled with clay, the door was a real door, and Bo could at last stretch his arms indoors.
Bo walked inside and saw Olea tending the stew. He was thankful that she’d returned to the village and gotten supplies from her parents. Of course, Mar hadn’t come back through the village after he was scared off, so it was easy enough to convince the villagers that he’d killed Bo and given up on her as a wife. Then she managed to convince them that she’d married a farmer not far from the village, and Bo had bartered for a calf with the wolf pelt, and he traded the calf for Olea.
Of course, Bo being ‘dead’ meant that he had had to have Olea remake his deals with the skinner and tanner in his place, and that she had to act as though he were a sickly sort of man. This was the only way the people would not question her coming alone every time she came into the village. But it still gave her pleasure to visit her family on those trips, and it was that alone that kept Bo from moving again.
Olea turned from the fire with a smile as Bo entered, her lithe form broken by the lump in her belly. Her golden hair was lit up by the fire behind, which was now the only light in the house, and Bo smiled at her while he replaced the door behind him. She glanced down at his hand and her smile disappeared, replaced with a raised, speculating eyebrow and a hand on her hip. Bo looked at his now-crimson-furred hand, covered in rabbit’s blood.
“Boelik?”
“Yes?” he replied sheepishly, avoiding her eyes.
“Wash yourself before you eat, please.”
“Right,” Bo said, an abashed smile on his face. He moved over to the little urn of water beside the table and dipped his hand in, rubbing the other over it for a minute before pulling it out relatively clean. He looked over at Olea quizzically and held it up to show her. She nodded.
“Now we can eat,” she said. She ladled some stew into a bowl and handed it to Bo. He set it at Olea’s place at the table and then came back to get the second bowl, which he sat down with. Olea came soon after and they ate in patient silence for a while.
“The sun will set soon. Do you want to go out and see it?” Bo asked near the end of the meal.
Olea swallowed the mouthful of stew she had before answering. “I think that would be wonderful.” Bo nodded.
After another few moments of silence, Olea asked, “Was the hunting good today?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry about the blood from earlier as well. I’ll change the water tomorrow.”
“Speaking of tomorrow, could we go to the apple orchard? I think that they should be ripe enough about now.”
“Of course. But remember that a basket does not make a good weapon.” Bo’s eyes glinted playfully at Olea in the dim light from across the table.
“You cruel man,” Olea squeaked, indignant, though a grin was breaking out over her face. “That is five years past!”
Bo laughed. “But I clearly remember. That basket was certainly quite durable for the situation.”
“Well, now I have you, I don’t need to worry about that, do I?”
“Not anymore.”
It wasn’t long before dinner was finished. In fact, it was just in time for the two to take the path out of the forest and sit on the hill at the edge of the forest as the sun set. Olea rested her head on Bo’s shoulder as they basked in the light of the blazing sky. A breeze made the trees whisper behind them and made the grass ahead appear as though it crashed in waves like a great, fiery ocean.
“You realize I wouldn’t trade a day of this life for anything, don’t you?” Olea whispered.
“I know,” Bo replied, putting his arm around her
and pulling her close. He gently laid his other hand on her belly. He couldn’t help worrying if he would be a good father, or if his child would be twisted like himself.
And Olea was very good at picking out his doubts. “You’ll be just fine,” she said. She put her own hand over Bo’s. He sighed. “She’s almost here, you know.”
“She?” Bo asked, blinking at her. Olea was still gazing out at the sunset but nodded against his shoulder.
“Maybe a he, too.”
“Two?”
“Yes, Bo. Two. Twins.”
“How long?” Bo was getting excited, and Olea could hear it. She laughed.
“Around a fortnight, perhaps? I don’t know exactly; they’ll come when they’re ready, whether or not we are.”
“Then I suppose I should do this now,” he grinned, standing and bringing her to her feet with him.
“Bo?”
“May I have this dance with you?” Bo asked, pulling her close.
“I’m not sure. Can you keep up?” Olea challenged, brown eyes sparkling. The two separated and wound around each other, Bo’s voice humming a melody for their steps. They moved lightly as birds as they danced, Olea’s laugh rising in the air. The wind wound around them, leading them in their joy.
As the sun disappeared completely, Bo pulled his tired wife to him. He kissed her, showing his love as she’d taught him how. “You realize,” she said, pulling away from him, “you weren’t this good when we got married.”
“Well, that was my first kiss.”