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i. her bloody kefta
There was a chill in the night air, and Nina’s boots crunched lightly through the snow, the bottom edge of her dark cloak catching occasionally beneath them. The moon hung high in the sky as the wind skirted past her, rustling through the thick trees and causing her to shudder.
As the forest grew denser, Nina took care to tug her cloak around her body more tightly; it wouldn’t do for the thick material to get snagged on stray branches or sharp thorns. She’d nearly made it to her cabin, tucked away in a hidden corner of north Ravka, right by the Fjerdan border. Kicking open the heavy wooden door, she stepped onto the creaky floorboards before shutting it behind her and crossing the small cabin to her woodstove.
The woven basket she’d kept clutched between cold fingers during her trek through the forest wound up resting on the floor as she prepared some kindling for a fire. Spidery tendrils of frost had crept their way along the panes of the two windows present in her cabin, and the sky had quickly grown dark, silver stars peeking out from beyond heavy veils of mist.
Sweeping her dark hair into a knot atop her head, Nina began sorting through the contents of her basket as soon as a warm fire was roaring in her woodstove.
A pack of dried reindeer meat. A bag of loose flour. Several quarts of berries. A bit of butter. A small slab of cheese. A handful of her favorite toffee candies.
She was well stocked for the next week or two, at the very least.
As she moved throughout her cabin, she stocked her shelves with her newly acquired goods from an outpost several kilometers away. She appreciated that small town: it was close enough that she could walk to it and back in only a few hours, but no one ever remembered who she was or tried to prod her into sharing her whole life story. She was able to slip in and out, selling anything she’d managed to forage or hunt in the woods to merchants, using the money to buy supplies. Those trips to the outpost were some of the rare occasions during which she’d interact with others.
Ever since her defection from Ravka’s Second Army, Nina had been bound to a life of isolation, always looking over her shoulder, wary of the Grisha Triumvirate she’d betrayed and of the Fjerdan drüskelle who hunted down Grisha with deadly precision. But, as long as she was careful, she would live to see another day.
It was a simple, solitary life.
But it was one that Nina had learned to appreciate.
The blood red kefta sat at the bottom of her dresser drawer on the other side of the cabin, always present at the back of her mind. Somehow, she couldn’t bear the thought of burning it or ripping it to shreds, but she knew that it also had the potential to incriminate her if any of the Grisha Triumvirate happened to stumble upon her little cabin, looking for Second Army defects or Grisha in hiding.
Shaking herself free of her thoughts, Nina forced herself to push the kefta from her mind and set to work, tugging out her cast iron press, making a simple waffle batter. As she sat down to a meal of waffles, strips of reindeer jerky, and berries, she desperately tried to block out the eerie sound of wolves, howling just beyond the walls of her cabin.
ii. a white wolf
Nina had never liked the howling of wolves.
During her time at the Little Palace, training to be a Grisha soldier, learning how to use her abilities as a Heartrender, she’d never heard the creatures since they weren’t often found within the borders of Ravka.
But upon moving north, after her escape from the Second Army, Nina heard wolves often, the closer she came to the Fjerdan border. The little cabin she’d found, hidden deep in the woods, had been long abandoned by the time she’d claimed it as her own, full of dust and cobwebs.
She’d been relieved to find it, though, upon hearing the wolves howl into the dark of the night, causing tiny shivers to crawl up her spine.
By now, Nina had gotten slightly more used to the beasts, and as long as they didn’t approach her cabin, she felt decently safe. They were most active at night, and Nina did most of her foraging during the day, beneath the light of the sun.
With a sigh, she located her small tin tub, scooping handfuls of cold snow and dropping it into the container’s empty belly. Melting the snow over her woodstove fire, she prepared a bar of soap and her dirty clothing.
Laundry was always a fairly tedious process, at least out here in the Ravkan-Fjerdan wilderness, but it was thankfully mindless enough that Nina didn’t need to focus much while doing it. After her clothing was finally all clean, she treated herself to a toffee, unwrapping the sweet candy and allowing it to melt on the tip of her tongue.
Glancing out one of the cabin’s windows, judging by the sun’s high position in the sky, Nina supposed that she had enough time to forage for a bit too. Reaching for her cloak and her basket, she left the cabin, taking care to close the door softly behind her, sturdy boots sinking into the surface of the snow lightly.
Nina did not, however, consider the possibility of running into a camp of waiting drüskelle. Instantly, her blood ran cold as her feet stilled, but she kept her face straight, knuckles turning white as she clutched her basket tightly. All she could think of was the blood red kefta sitting at the bottom of her dresser back home. She should’ve burned it.
“Hello,” she called in Fjerdan, hoping beyond hope that her lilting accent wouldn’t betray her.
The drüskelle regarded her carefully with eyes so sharp and blue that they looked as though they were cut of frosted glass. They were seated around a campfire in the clearing.
For a moment, Nina considered running, but she knew that they would be on her in seconds if she did. It was best to try her chances at pretending to be a lost Fjerdan girl. She cursed her Ravkan dark hair and green eyes, so different from the blond hair and blue eyes of the Fjerdans. If only she had thought to be more careful, to take more precautions, to tailor herself to match Fjerdan features prior to leaving her home.
One of the men stood slowly, icy gaze sweeping over her once, then twice. “How do you know our language?” He asked in broken Ravkan, eyes narrowing on her.
Nina’s heart nearly stopped in her chest, but her feet were still rooted to the ground.
“How?” He continued to grit, taking another step closer to her. “Drüsje…”
Witch.
But then, there was movement in the brush, and a woman Nina had never seen before emerged, her green eyes blazing. The woman looked off, in a way that Nina couldn’t place her finger on, but she was in no position to be picky about her allies.
With that in mind, Nina leaped into action, throwing her hands up to defend herself. There would be time to worry about the woman and her alliances later, after the drüskelle had been dealt with.
The woman was both a Grisha and a Corporalki, like Nina. She was also a skilled warrior with a natural handle on her powers, but the look in her eyes was slightly crazed, in a way that Nina had never seen before. She cut her way through the drüskelle forces with ease and with minimal help from Nina.
The drüskelle didn’t stand a chance.
Eventually, all but one of them were dead. The leader, stern with ice blue eyes and shoulder length blonde hair, glared at Nina’s rescuer. He was already injured, clutching at his side, hardly able to stand. But the Fjerdans were stubborn and didn’t give up without a damn good fight. “Are you going to kill me?” He hissed in his stilted Ravkan, frozen eyes full of hatred.
The Grisha just smiled through a pair of glassy eyes, moving her hands through the air as though plucking at the strings of a marionette or tugging at the veins that ran throughout the drüskelle’s tall body.
It was unnerving, and Nina found herself growing more and more nervous with each passing moment.
Who was this Grisha, and what was wrong with her? Why did Nina almost feel as though she should be assisting the drüskelle instead of her kin? Panic seized her body as she considered the idea that the woman was sent by the Grisha Triumvirate to retrieve her and drag her back to the Little Palace, kicking and screaming.
The Grisha was doing something to the drüskelle, that much was obvious.
Nina became mesmerized by the motion of the Grisha’s hands as they swept through the air, causing the drüskelle’s body to contort and twist and bend through the air at unnatural angles. She took a step back from the clearing as the drüskelle – no – the man’s body began to shift, taking on the form of a beast, lifting his head up to the heavens and letting out an ear-shattering howl.
A look of horror crossed over Nina’s face.
The Grisha was a Tailor… But what sort of Tailor could turn a man into a wolf?
Then, as swiftly as she had arrived, the Tailor turned on her heels without sparing Nina a second glance and left the man – the wolf – curled up on a bed of snow, the blood of his kin matting his white fur.
Nina had always been brave, standing up against her childhood bullies, training in the Little Palace, serving in the Second Army. But for once, she was shaking with fear.
A camp full of drüskelle waiting for unsuspecting drüsje so close to her cabin. A tussle that led to the death of all the drüskelle but one. A Tailor who had the ability to morph man into creature with a few flicks of her wrist.
A drüskelle who’d been turned into a white wolf.
Now, Nina was alone in the clearing, save for the wolf. She didn’t know where the Tailor went, but she hoped that she never saw the woman ever again. She had never seen such displays of power before, not in all her time at the Little Palace or in the Second Army. Not even Genya, a master at her craft, could do something so unnatural. Since when could Tailors alter species ?
She turned her focus back to the wolf, approaching him warily. “Are you… alright?” She asked timidly in Fjerdan.
The drüskelle turned wolf bared his teeth at her, white and sharp, glinting beneath the sunlight. He tried to haul himself upward, body lurching forward as he adjusted to having four legs instead of only two.
Temper flaring lightly, Nina jutted her chin out. “I want to help you.”
The white wolf was wallowing in his own blood, in the blood of his fallen brothers. He was clearly as persistent as he was injured.
She turned to leave the clearing, glancing at him once over her shoulder. “I will help you, if you’ll quit being such a stubborn squid about this.”
The wolf cocked his head, as though examining her, staring into her soul with his blue gaze. He seemed to question why she would wish to help him in the first place.
“It’s not as though you’re a saint,” Nina mused. She’d been keeping up her Fjerdan; by now, it was abundantly clear that she was a Grisha, but she found that speaking to the wolf in his native tongue helped him to relax. “And you were going to hurt me…” She approached the wolf again, crouching down low this time so she could remain in his line of sight. “But… You're still a human being, beneath all that muck and fur.”
This time, the wolf remained deathly still, his distrust still clear from the way his body was tensed. He watched her carefully as she reached her hands out, finding the sources of his main injuries, brushing gently against his bloody fur.
During her time at the Little Palace, much of Nina’s training had been primarily focused on her heartrending abilities as opposed to healing or tailoring, the two other Corporalki disciplines. Heartrending involved manipulating a person’s organs, usually with the intent to damage them, and was quite unlike healing (which involved mending and fixing a body) and tailoring (which involved shifting and altering a body’s features). Despite the way that all three disciplines involved the manipulation of a living body, they required such different ways of thinking that Nina hadn’t quite mastered anything beyond basic heartrending training, which made learning healing and tailoring quite difficult.
Occasionally, as she worked on healing the wolf to the best of her ability, he let out a loud whimper or a soft whining sound, nothing like the howling she heard every other night. She’d been scared of the Tailor and the human drüskelle and the wolves that howled just beyond the safety of her cabin at night, and she was afraid of the white wolf too since he was both angry and injured. Still, she gave him her best efforts, despite fearing that he would bite her fingers off with a snarl.
After a while, her knees grew cold from resting against the frozen ground for so long, and Nina yanked her cloak around her more tightly as she continued working at the wolf’s injuries. It seemed that the injuries received on the drüskelle’s human form had translated to his wolf one.
She did her best to stop any internal bleeding before causing clots to form where the blood was leaking out of the wolf’s body; with time, they would hopefully scab over so that the skin and the fur could heal underneath. Then, she set to work cleaning up some of the smaller cuts and wounds he’d sustained, taking care to stay well away from his bared teeth and sharp claws. As she worked, she searched for any sign of the Tailor’s seams, but she found none.
Whoever had done this was skilled beyond anything Nina had ever seen before.
Once, she tried to stroke some of the wolf’s matted white coat, but he had howled so loudly in protest that she retreated instantly. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just trying to make sure that you’re comfortable.”
The wolf seemed to scowl at that.
“You can’t be mad at me now,” Nina informed him, exhausted from the energy her clumsy healing abilities had required of her. “I’ve just saved your life.”
The glower on the wolf’s features seemed to deepen as he rolled over in the snow, resting his head on his paws, back turned to her.
Nina rolled her eyes, glancing at the basket she’d dropped just before the odd Tailor arrived and saved her from the drüskelle. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” She rummaged through her basket. “I don’t suppose you would like berries?”
The wolf seemed almost insulted by her offering.
“I suppose not.” Swaying on her feet slightly, Nina held her basket tightly, planting her feet on the frozen ground with intention. The world had begun spinning slightly around her; she needed to get home. “I would invite you back to my home – not for a good time, mind you, so don’t get any ideas – but I don’t know if I trust you just yet, drüskelle.”
A glare in his icy blue eyes, the wolf regarded her for a moment before a whimper escaped the back of his throat. He didn’t look up at her.
Not even when she turned her back to leave.
iii. the steady thrum
An errand that was supposed to be quick and easy had turned into an affair that lasted several hours, judging by the way the sun was dipping beyond the treetops. Nina crashed through the snowy bramble as she arrived at her cabin; she felt infinitely better once the heavy door was bolted shut behind her.
Already, the wolves were likely beginning to prowl, and it was better for her to be safely inside for the night.
After her run-in with the Tailor and the drüskelle, Nina found herself digging through her drawers, pulling out her kefta and holding it up against her body with trembling fingers. From her peripherals, she could see the hazy flicker of the fire burning in her woodstove. It would be so easy to toss it in, watching the fabric curl and wither and succumb to the hungry flames.
But something held her back, and she returned the kefta to the bottom of her drawer instead of the fire where it belonged.
Sinking into one of the two crudely made chairs by the woodstove, Nina finally allowed herself to process the occurrings of the day. The reality of the fact that she could’ve been taken, either by the Fjerdan drüskelle or by the Grisha Tailor, sunk in as she buried her head in her hands.
Would she need to flee again? Where could she even run to? Where was safe for a Grisha Heartrender, a defector of the Second Army?
The wolves howling outside weren’t comforting at all, and Nina barely slept a wink that night, consumed with a sickening sort of anxiety. The only way she was finally able to fall asleep was by listening to the steady thrum of her own blood, rushing through her veins.
iv. feeding the beast
Something wasn’t right.
Nina bolted upright on her small cot in the corner of her cabin, lashes brushing against her cheeks as she blinked, adjusting to the lack of light in the room.
There was a light scratching against her door, a soft huff on the other side.
Hands held in front of her, ready to defend herself, Nina dared a peek out the window, through the misty glass.
The white wolf.
Her brows narrowed as she stepped toward the door. It was still late at night. There was no telling what, beyond the white wolf, could be outside. Still, she took her chances and opened the door a crack, meeting the ice blue eyes of the cursed beast.
“Hello, drüskelle.”
The white wolf huffed again, seemingly in annoyance. He looked up at her with a glare.
Nina kept her body safely tucked behind the door, peering out at the wolf from behind it. “How did you find me?” She asked. Had he followed her to her cabin? As soon as whatever the tailoring had been done on him wore off, he could return with more drüskelle to capture her and cart her off to Fjerda. She didn’t like it.
He tilted his nose to the air and met her eyes with another shuddering exhale.
“My scent?” Nina allowed the door to crack open just a bit more. “You must be hungry. Stay outside, drüskelle, and I will bring you food if you’re patient enough.” After the door was closed shut behind her, she began to search through her supplies, pulling out a couple strips of dried reindeer. After some thought, she added a few more long pieces.
The beast was likely very hungry.
As she opened the door ever so slightly, Nina tossed the strips onto the snow, watching the wolf closely.
Though she could tell that he was hungry, the wolf did not eat from the pile, tilting his head up to steadily meet her gaze.
Nina furrowed her brows. “What’s the matter, drüskelle? Eat.”
But he only stared at her further.
Finally, exasperated, Nina stepped back inside her cabin, letting the door slam shut behind her. She waited a bit before peeking out the window, watching the wolf from beyond the frosty panes.
Once he thought she was gone, the beast scarfed down the strips quickly, lapping lightly at the snow occasionally to sate his thirst. More than once, his tongue stuck to the frozen ground, and she had to bite back a laugh.
Filling a carved wooden bowl with snow melted on her woodstove, Nina waited until the wolf was satisfied before placing it outside her door.
When the tailored drüskelle noticed her, he bowed his head in thanks begrudgingly, nose nearly freezing to the ground. He didn’t realize it, but his tail was wagging behind him, and it was hard to reconcile the image of the happy, fed wolf before her with the hardened drüskelle hunter of before.
Nina bit back another laugh as she turned away from the window.
v. the drug's grip
Over the next few days, Nina saw the wolf only on occasion. Once the beast was strong enough to fight and kill, he began to hunt on his own, not really needing her or her strips of dried meat anymore, so it was a wonder she ever saw him at all.
He’d lurk around her cabins sometimes, and it made her slightly uneasy. Perhaps he was stalking her, preparing to capture her if the Grisha’s tailoring ever wore off and his Fjerdan – human – features returned. Or perhaps he was lonely, faced with the loss of his pack in a foreign country.
Nina, ever the optimist, chose to believe the latter.
On a trip to the outpost one chilly morning, Nina’s brows knit together as she sifted through bolts of sturdy cloth, selecting a soft blue one that happened to catch her eye. From her peripherals, she paid close attention to two women who were huddled in the corner of the shop, speaking in hushed whispers, their voices covered by the din of the shoddy general store.
“Jurda parem…” One woman whispered, her wrinkled hands curled into shriveled claws. “Lethal for non-Grisha…”
Nina took a step closer to the two women, the bolt of fabric still clutched between tight fingers.
“Unbelievably addictive for Grisha,” the first woman continued, her eyes wide, a hand covering her mouth in a poor attempt at smothering her gossip. “Enhances a Grisha’s powers.”
The other woman narrowed her gaze. “Whatever could that mean?”
No one had noticed the two women… no one except Nina.
“Squallers who can fly… Tidemakers who walk through walls… Heartrenders who control with their minds… Tailors who shift anatomy.” The first woman suddenly looked stricken. “It’s dangerous. We must all be careful.”
The women went silent one after the other, slipping back into the shadows, following the grain of the wood walls out the door. Not a soul had paused in their business while the women were discussing… jurda parem.
For a moment, Nina wondered how they could be so careless. If what they spoke of was true, then a drug such as jurda parem must be a closely guarded secret. Its knowledge contained the potential for power unimaginable and pain unspeakable, for Grisha and non-Grisha alike.
A cheery smile spread across her features as she bought her supplies and charmed the store clerk who was ringing all her purchases up. As soon as she was back out in the bluster of the cold Ravkan-Fjerdan winter, however, she allowed fear to chase the happiness from her face, tugging a bright red scarf up over her mouth.
Troubled by what she’d overheard during the trip to the outpost, Nina hurried back through the forest to her cabin, looking for the white wolf along the way.
Tailors who could shift a person’s anatomy?
The Tailor who had cursed the drüskelle must have been under the influence of jurda parem. It was the only explanation that made sense. Not even Genya had such capabilities, and if jurda parem could heighten or enhance a Grisha’s abilities, then it could have been how the Tailor transformed man into wolf.
Once she’d arrived safely at her cabin, Nina began unpacking her basket, setting the soft blue fabric on her kitchen table first. Perhaps it could make a nice scarf. Perhaps. She tried not to think of how the soft blue would look against scruffy white fur.
vi. a hesitant hello
The next time she saw the wolf was an odd one. He wasn’t really a wolf anymore, but he wasn’t quite a man either.
“Hello,” Nina flicked her green eyes toward the figure, slumped against a sturdy tree trunk, broad chest heaving.
The wolf… the man eyed her with blatant distrust. “Hello.” His reply was flat.
Nina crunched through the snow with her boots, arms swinging by her sides. A Heartrender with her arms down was a fairly defenseless one. She wanted to prove that she didn’t mean him any harm. “The seams of the tailoring are beginning to tear.” She spoke in Fjerdan, hoping to calm him with the familiarity of his native tongue.
With a huff, the man angled his body away from her, not even bothering to try to hide his glare. “The Grisha witch deserves to die for what she did to me and my brethren.”
“She saved my life,” Nina replied shortly, her gaze narrowing. “You all were… You were going to kill me.” She stood her ground, one hand on her hip as she examined the man.
The drüskelle was very tall, and his unruly blond hair was rather long. He looked more man than beast, but there was the matter of his sharp teeth that still managed to resemble fangs and of the ripped shreds of fur hanging off his body. His icy blue eyes were slightly crazed as he clung to the trunk of the tree as though it were his lifeline. She wondered where the seams to his tailoring were.
“So you are a drüsje,” the man mused, his gaze turning sharp. “You must be.” He took a staggering step forward, swaying on his feet.
“Your feet are bare,” Nina noted in shock. “You’re freezing.” She almost reached for him, but her good sense stopped her. She could raise his body temperature in a heartbeat if she wanted to, but she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about him just yet.
He wasn’t… bad looking, by any means. Had she met him on the streets of the outpost, she just might have escorted him back to the outpost’s sole temporary lodging, a crummy building with a hall or two of rooms available for booking.
But here he was, more man than wolf, but wolf all the same.
“You’re coming inside with me,” she informed simply, making up her mind in an instant.
His blue gaze darkened, but he was obviously not in any position to argue or negotiate. He very nearly tilted his head upward to howl at the sky, and he glared at her openly. Though she knew it was likely a terrible idea, she slung an arm around his waist, helping him limp his way into her cabin.
Regardless of how she felt about him at the moment, Nina was no savage, and she knew better than to leave a man who’d been under the influence of a Tailor with enhanced abilities just out in the open.
Who knew what the Grisha Triumvirate or the Fjerdan drüskelle or the Shu scientists or the greedy Kerch merchants would do with such an odd case study?
Nina shuddered. She didn’t want to find out, and she doubted the drüskelle wanted to either.
vii. at the seams
“You’re unbearable,” Nina gritted between clenched teeth. She tugged at the strange man’s furs, soaked through from snow. “Why the hell won’t you let me take these off?”
The drüskelle fought against her advances, which was quite unusual, she had to admit. “You will not touch me, drüsje.” His voice was deep and low, nearly a growl.
With a roll of her eyes, she continued pulling at the furs, “I should’ve left you out to freeze, drüskelle.” Upon examining the furs more closely, she came to a startling realization. “The tailoring hasn’t completely worn off. The furs are… a part of you?”
“Now you stop touching me,” the man jerked himself out her reach, his features pulling into a deep glower. “I do not want a Grisha witch to touch me.” Decidedly done with the niceties, the man was spitting the words out angrily in broken Ravkan.
Nina felt her temper flare at that. “Don’t insult me,” she snapped. “You’re in my home, muddying my floors, taking shelter under my roof, and keeping warm thanks to my abilities.” She folded her arms over her chest, “I’m not much of a Tailor myself, but I was going to see if I could restore you back to your original state.” Tilting her chin upward with a slight lofty glance in his direction, she moved across the wooden floors. “But you’re being insufferable, and I might just be inclined to leave you here half wolf for the rest of your life.”
The witch-hunter recoiled at that and stopped baring his teeth. That was good. Any cooperation on his part was a good thing.
This time, when Nina reached for him, he allowed her to run her fingers along the mess of fur and skin that composed his tall body as she searched for the seams of the tailoring.
Squinting her eyes in concentration, Nina felt along the curve of his oddly contorted spine, tugging gently at the seams. “Whoever did this to you was… unnaturally good at her craft.” She kept her fingers light and gentle as she worked, hoping to keep the drüskelle calm. “This might take more than one session, I'm afraid.”
The drüskelle looked startled at that, but he didn't say a word in reply.
“I… suppose you can stay here,” Nina continued, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “There's nowhere else for you to go, really, and it might be wise to give you some time to rest in between sessions.” They hissed in sync as she pulled out a particularly tight seam. The muscles in his back flexed beneath the pads of her fingers. “Unless you wish to remain half man half wolf for the rest of your life.”
Though the drüskelle looked angry, her threat was valid, and they both knew it.
The drüskelle gritted his teeth, and whether it was from the pain of his seams tearing or from the thought of accepting kindness from a Grisha witch, Nina didn't know.
“Fine, drüsje.” He inhaled sharply and clenched his fists. “I will stay with you.” He paused for a moment, as though he were about to say more, but then he shook his head and fell silent.
Nina could live with that. She went back to work.
viii. still and silent
The drüskelle, although slightly hostile, was not an altogether terrible companion. He often went out to hunt, and he never complained about her cooking.
Sleeping under the same roof had been slightly scary at first, in part due to the fact that Nina still wasn't quite sure if she could trust him, and in part due to the fact that she hadn't needed to share quarters with anyone else in so long.
Even so, they fell into a routine, and Nina worked at his tailoring every other day, hoping to work the jurda parem enhanced seams from his body. “Drüskelle, hold still.”
They still hadn't exchanged names, often referring to each other as drüskelle or witch or brute or drüsje.
“You are sticking your fingers into my skin, Grisha witch,” the man hissed back. He was seated in one of the wooden chairs, gripping its arms with white knuckles. An inhuman howl left his body as he tensed under her touch.
An exasperated sigh slipped from Nina’s lips as she narrowed her eyes anyways, trying to concentrate. “Oh, hush – Sit still and let me focus so we can be done with this for today.”
The man grumbled, though he did his best to stay still and silent. And, if he leaned ever so slightly into her touch while she worked, well… neither of them made any mention of it.
ix. far better now
“You’re looking far better now, drüskelle,” Nina said, almost two weeks after she first began working at his fur and skin and seams.
Currently, the man looked more human than he ever had been, even in comparison to the night they first met. Back then, he had been a monster with a snarl and a desire to kill her. Now, he was simply a man with a reluctant smile and a set of icy blue eyes who helped her wash dishes and complained about a lack of meat on her dinner table.
Though he stubbornly avoided her gaze as he was apt to, the man nodded, tilting his neck so she could have better access to the seams that ran along there. “It is all thanks to you.”
Nina nearly pulled back in surprise, though she forced herself to focus on removing little patches of fur that clung to his skin. “Of course it is.” She tugged a little harder. “You're indebted to me now.”
“That is true.” The man leaned against the back of his chair and kept his lips pressed into a tight line.
“You… don't plan on killing me once I'm done, do you?” Nina asked. She could easily deal with him if he tried, but the thought of all her tailoring work being for naught left a poor taste in her mouth.
The man shook his head as best he could in his current position. “No… You have done more for me than I could ever repay.” A strange look entered his eyes. “You are not as I thought you would be.”
Nina raised a brow at that. “And how did you expect me to be?”
“Evil. Cold-hearted.” The response was quick.
A laugh nearly slipped from her lips as she replied, “And what do you think of me now, drüskelle?”
The man nearly dropped his head into his hands, but she held him firmly in place. “Kind. Warm.” She was about to speak again when he added, “Beautiful.” He avoided her gaze. “You are like a little red bird dancing in the snow.”
At that, Nina accidentally yanked too hard, and he recoiled. “I'm so sorry,” she exclaimed, pressing soothing circles into the spot on his back she'd just irritated. “And… That's very kind of you to say.”
“It is the truth,” the man replied simply. Then, he met her eyes, and her breath was nearly stolen from her lungs.
Not to be outdone, Nina winked at him before batting her lashes and curving her lips into a brilliant smile. “I think… I think we're done for the day, drüskelle.”
“Matthias.”
“I'm sorry?” Nina blinked in surprise.
The man didn't drop her gaze, and he reached out his hand. “Matthias Helvar.”
Her lips curved upward into a smile as she accepted his outstretched hand with her own. “And I'm Nina Zenik.”
x. his blue scarf
Though Matthias no longer had much white fur to speak of, Nina thought that her handiwork would look lovely on him anyways. She felt along the soft fabric one last time, feeling incredibly proud of her work.
Despite the fact that Nina had finished restoring his human form some time ago, Matthias never ended up leaving her little cabin, and the life they had managed to establish together in the weeks they'd spent healing never stopped… Nor did she want it to, really.
In fact, it had only gotten better with time, and Nina found herself growing almost dangerously fond of the former drüskelle.
It was the little things that spoke to Nina… The way Matthias would drop chunks of skinned meat onto the table after hunting because he knew she didn't like going out to hunt herself. The way she'd look for almonds and cream while visiting the outpost so that she could make his favorite semla. The way he'd help her clean the cabin from top to bottom when there was a need to. The way she'd mend his clothing and he wouldn't say a word to complain about the patches of patterned cloth she sometimes used to fix holes (even though he swore up and down that he hated how they looked).
Though they’d only known each other for about half of a year, Nina already knew that she would take a bullet for him if she ever needed to.
Grasping the soft scarf between her fingertips, Nina pictured how it would look against his skin, looped around his neck to protect him from the cold while he was out hunting. The thought made her smile, and she set the scarf back down, beginning to sort through the berries she'd picked that morning.
After defecting from the Ravkan Second Army, Nina hadn't ever expected to find love in any form, let alone love for her sworn enemy. Yet, here she was, making waffles and semla and roasted meat while waiting for her Fjerdan drüskelle to come home.
“Nina?” The door to the cabin pushed open as Matthias entered, stomping against the doormat in order to knock off some of the snow he'd tracked in. Then, he kicked off his boots and crossed the cabin floor to place a package of wrapped meat on the table.
Before she could stop herself, Nina found her lips curving into a smile as she tilted her face upward and pressed a kiss to his cold cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home.” She helped him out of his heavy fur coat, trying to make sure that none of the melting snow slipped onto her freshly cleaned floor.
“We're going to need to make a trip out to the outpost soon, you know,” Matthias grimaced, shaking tiny snow crystals out of his unruly blond hair.
Nina nodded but then motioned for him to sit down at the table. “I know, I know – But we can worry about that later. For now, just sit. I've got some fresh semla here for you.”
Blue eyes lit up as Matthias reached for one. “Nina, I thank Djel every day for blessing me with you.”
With a laugh, Nina draped herself around his shoulders, hiding the scarf behind her back. “As you should, Helvar.” Then, she held the scarf out before him excitedly. “Look what I made you!”
Grasping the scarf in his calloused hands, Matthias looked up at her as his eyes softened. “Nina… This is beautiful.”
“What's a great white wolf without a blue scarf to keep him warm?” Nina quipped in reply, hugging him from behind and hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
Letting the scarf rest on his lap, Matthias froze. “I do not mean to presume, Nina, but… Is it possible for a little red bird to care for a great white wolf?”
Clumsily, Nina crawled onto his lap, looping her legs around his waist and capturing his gaze with her own. “Oh, Matthias…” She murmured against his lips. “This little red bird cares for her great white wolf very, very much.”