She knew it was Grak next to her without opening her eyes. She’d like to attribute the knowledge to the superior skills of a warrior, but they’d rusted in the whiskey barrel of her life long ago.
No, it was Grak himself. His presence was unmistakable. It was like his magic bumped against her in a gentle announcement. “Hello, I am Grak, I am here,” it said silently.
She told herself it was irritating. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t move. Instead she sat up, piled her nearly-dry hair on top of her head and secured it with a heart wood hair comb. Something firmed up inside her, and she finally turned her gaze to Grak. “Is it much like your village?” she asked.
He tilted his head toward her, as if her words might escape if he didn’t listen closely enough. “Similar enough. I’m sure some traditions and habits are different, it’s a much different climate here, after all.” He sighed heavily, settling deeper into the water. “I do miss my clan. I haven’t seen my mother or brothers in several years.”
Pain clenched in Kajivar’s chest, but she held back the tears. The thousands that came before had done nothing. New tears would also be wasted. “You should visit them,” she said tightly. “I’m sure they miss you as well.”
His eyes narrowed on her face, and she attempted to smooth away any expression. “It is my intention to return to the South with the thaw,” he said simply. “I wanted …” He looked away from her. “I will see them in the Spring,” he said instead.
The corners of her lips turned up in a sad smile. “I’m glad,” she said. Nobody should waste an opportunity to be with their family.
They spent the rest of their bath in comfortable silence.
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