The woodland trail curved gradually away from the livestock fields, slipping beneath an interwoven canopy of oak, silver birch, and dark-leafed trees whose names Amor had not yet bothered to learn. Sunlight descended through the branches in shifting columns, illuminating drifting specks of pollen and dappling the narrow path with warm patches of gold, while moss softened the exposed roots beside the road. With their arms still interlocked, Amor and Valdor continued at an unhurried pace, their mismatched footsteps blending with the murmur of insects and the distant rushing of the stream that marked the western boundary of the estate.
Amor had expected the forested edge of House Moons to feel wild only by aristocratic standards, little more than an ornamental collection of trees preserved so noble guests could pretend they were adventuring without leaving sight of the manor. Instead, the woods thickened considerably beyond the last pasture, with thorny undergrowth gathering between ancient trunks and small animal tracks cutting through the damp earth. Although the estate maintained the main path and patrolled the boundary regularly, nature had been granted enough freedom here that the land no longer appeared arranged for anyone’s admiration.
Valdor clearly preferred it.
The deeper they moved beneath the trees, the more naturally he carried himself, his steps becoming nearly silent despite his considerable size and the dry twigs scattered across the ground. His obsidian eyes traveled constantly between the branches, shadows, and disturbed patches of soil, not with suspicion exactly, but with the instinctive awareness of someone accustomed to entering places where danger might possess teeth. Amor, meanwhile, continued along the center of the trail in his heeled shoes, trusting Valdor’s arm whenever an uneven stone threatened his carefully maintained balance.
"You are watching everything except the path..."
Amor observed after catching Valdor examining a cluster of marks scored into the bark of a nearby tree like something had rammed into it multiple times.
"Do you expect monsters to emerge from Father’s woodland?"
"No."
"That was an impressively unconvincing answer."
Valdor looked toward the darker section of forest beyond the estate wall.
"Monsters move. Walls tell people where land ends, not beasts."
Amor glanced toward the pale stone boundary visible intermittently between the trees, its height sufficient to discourage thieves but unlikely to trouble anything capable of climbing or flying.
"The estate employs hunters and wardens to patrol these grounds, and the capital’s surrounding region has supposedly been cleared of dangerous beasts for decades. I imagine the most threatening creature we are likely to encounter is an irritated squirrel."
"Squirrels bite."
"So do noblewomen, but one does not carry a spear into every ballroom."
Valdor considered that comparison with the same grave concentration he gave nearly everything Amor said, then inclined his head as though conceding its logic. The movement caused one of his decorated braids to brush against his shoulder, and Amor’s gaze lingered briefly upon the purple mountain-glass bead he had admired earlier. He was already wondering whether Valdor might be persuaded to craft something similar for him before the month concluded, though asking so soon would appear unreasonably eager.
They followed the trail as it sloped toward a narrow wooden bridge crossing the estate stream.
The water below was clear enough to reveal small silver fish moving between smooth stones, while ferns and purple wildflowers crowded the shaded banks in disorderly abundance. Amor paused near the center of the bridge, resting one hand upon the railing as he admired the water, and Valdor stopped with him without releasing their linked arms. The warrior’s attention, however, remained fixed upon the flowers.
"Are those similar to your fireheart blooms?"
Amor asked.
"No..."
Valdor replied.
"Those need ash."
"A rather grim requirement for something so pretty."
"Fire does not only destroy."
Amor looked up at him, reminded once again that Valdor spoke of beauty and death without treating them as opposites. In the kingdom, funeral flowers were cultivated in controlled gardens and arranged by servants who removed every wilted petal before mourners arrived, creating the illusion that grief could be made elegant through sufficient expense. Valdor’s people apparently allowed flowers to grow directly from the remains of their dead and considered that transformation comforting rather than morbid.
"Perhaps I should visit your home one day..."
Amor said, the thought leaving his lips before he had fully decided whether it was wise.
"I would like to see these flowers instead of relying upon your extremely restrained descriptions."
Valdor turned toward him. The change in his attention was immediate enough that Amor wondered whether he had unknowingly offered something more significant than casual interest. Valdor’s face remained stoic, but the arm beneath Amor’s hand became rigid with sudden alertness, and the warmth gathering in his obsidian eyes made the shaded bridge seem brighter.
"You would come north?"
"I said perhaps."
"You would be welcomed."
"I should hope so, considering your father has been welcomed beneath our roof."
Valdor continued looking at him with an intensity that suggested the visit had already become a certainty within his mind.
"My sisters would prepare the warm lodge. Tharek would speak until you threatened him. Kesra would ask what you eat and make twice as much."
Amor’s lips curved.
"Considering what you witnessed this afternoon, she may need advance warning."
"She would be pleased."
"And your youngest siblings?"
"They would follow you."
"That sounds exhausting."
"They would bring flowers."
The image softened Amor’s teasing response before he could deliver it. He imagined Blackstone children with Valdor’s dark eyes and caramel skin crowding around his flowing clothes, offering handfuls of tiny purple blossoms while their enormous older brother watched to ensure no one tugged too hard upon Amor’s sleeves. The thought was unexpectedly pleasant, though he concealed that reaction by turning his attention back toward the stream.
"You have decided a great deal about a journey I have not promised to make."
Amor said.
"You said perhaps."
"Which means it may or may not happen."
Valdor’s eyes remained upon him.
"I will make it happen."
Amor lifted one eyebrow, though amusement softened the warning within the gesture.
"Be careful, Valdor. Kingdom nobles consider that sort of certainty dangerously close to arrogance."
"Blackstone people call it intention."
The reply followed Amor from the bridge as they resumed their walk, settling somewhere in the back of his mind with more weight than he wished to grant it. Alphonsins had once spoken with certainty because he believed authority gave him the right to determine what others could or could not do. Valdor’s certainty felt different, not because it lacked force, but because it carried the quiet implication that he would build an opportunity and leave Amor free to accept it.
The path widened beyond the stream before bending toward the outer grazing fields.
A low wooden fence ran intermittently through the trees, separating the woodland trail from a broad meadow used when the livestock required fresh grass. Most of the field stood empty now, its herd returned to the farm for the afternoon feeding, though several tufts of pale wool clung to the lower rails where sheep had pushed against the wood. Valdor examined the fence as they passed, occasionally glancing toward the ground where broad hoofprints had churned the earth beside one of the posts. Amor noticed his attention.
"Another damaged tree?"
"The fence was struck."
"By what?"
Valdor stopped.
The pleasant warmth left his expression so quickly that Amor felt the shift before he understood its cause. Valdor withdrew his arm from Amor’s, not with the earlier reluctance that had accompanied their separation in the garden, but with precise urgency. One broad hand moved across Amor’s body, guiding him silently behind the protection of Valdor’s shoulder. The sudden loss of their easy companionship sharpened Amor’s senses.
"What is it?"
He asked, lowering his voice instinctively. Valdor pointed toward the nearest fence post.
The thick timber leaned outward at an unnatural angle, its base partially torn from the soil, while one of the horizontal rails had split near the center. Fresh dirt and splintered wood surrounded the break, indicating that whatever had struck the fence possessed considerable strength. Beyond it, the tall grass moved despite the absence of wind.
"An animal escaped."
Valdor said. Amor glanced back toward the distant farm buildings, barely visible through the scattered trees.
"Then one of the workers will collect it."
"It came this way."
"You can determine that from a broken fence?"
Valdor crouched and touched two fingers to a deep impression in the damp soil. The hoofprint was wider than Amor’s palm, pressed so forcefully into the ground that water had begun gathering inside it. Several more tracks led from the enclosure toward the woods, accompanied by torn clumps of grass and strips of bark scraped from the nearby trees.
"A ram..."
Valdor said.
"Large."
"Then perhaps we should return before it mistakes my clothing for an especially colorful rival."
Valdor rose and moved even closer to Amor, placing his body between him and the disturbed undergrowth.
"Walk behind me."
Amor’s first instinct was to object to being ordered around upon his own estate, particularly after spending a night bound to the whims of a domineering duke, even if it had only lasted less than thirty minutes. However, Valdor’s posture contained none of Alphonsins’s imperious entitlement, only the absolute concentration of a warrior responding to a possible threat. Amor stepped behind him without argument, gathering one side of his flowing tunic so the delicate fabric would not catch upon the roots.
They had taken only three cautious steps when a violent crash tore through the woods.
A massive ram burst from the undergrowth ahead.
The animal was far larger than the gentle sheep Amor had observed at the farm, its body packed with dense muscle beneath a filthy coat of charcoal-gray wool. Two immense horns curled beside its head in thick spirals, their ridged surfaces stained with earth and fragments of splintered wood, while saliva hung from its mouth as it released a deep, furious bellow. Its black eyes fixed immediately upon the two figures occupying the path. Amor stared.
"That really belongs to us?"
The ram pawed the ground, driving one hoof into the soil.
"Not for long if it continues behaving like this."
Valdor muttered. His arm shot backward and wrapped around Amor’s waist.
There was no warning beyond the sudden pressure of a powerful forearm closing around his narrow middle. Amor barely had time to gasp before his feet left the ground, his heels swinging uselessly above the path as Valdor swept him against his bare chest. The movement was impossibly swift and yet controlled enough that Amor felt no pain, only the shocking heat of Valdor’s skin and the solidity of the body carrying him.
The ram charged.
Valdor bent his knees and leapt.
For one dizzying instant, the woodland floor vanished beneath them. Air rushed through Amor’s long hair and billowing sleeves as Valdor propelled both of them upward with a force that should not have been possible for any ordinary man, clearing several feet as easily as another person might step across a puddle. Amor’s hands caught instinctively around Valdor’s shoulders while the warrior landed upon a thick branch extending from an ancient oak.
The limb dipped beneath their combined weight but held.
Valdor balanced without visible difficulty, one arm locked securely around Amor while the other gripped the trunk. Below them, the ram thundered past the point where Amor had been standing and struck the base of the tree hard enough to send a tremor through the branches. Amor tightened his hold around Valdor as leaves and fragments of bark rained through the air.
"That creature is considerably more threatening than a squirrel!"
Amor said, breathless despite his attempt at composure. Valdor looked down at him.
"Are you hurt?"
"I was lifted into a tree before anything could touch me."
"That is not an answer."
Amor recognized his own earlier accusation and might have appreciated the irony under less precarious circumstances. He examined himself quickly, finding no injury beyond one shoe hanging slightly loose from his heel and a racing pulse that had more to do with Valdor’s arm around his waist than he wished to admit.
"I’m unharmed."
Valdor’s shoulders relaxed by the smallest degree. He shifted along the branch, carrying Amor toward the wider portion near the trunk, where the wood broadened enough to provide a stable seat. He lowered Amor carefully onto the branch, positioning his back against the trunk and checking that the flowing fabric beneath him would not slide across the mossy surface.
"Stay here."
Amor’s eyes narrowed.
"Where are you going?"
"To stop it."
Below, the ram wheeled around and prepared for another charge, throwing its horned head against the tree trunk with renewed fury. The impact shook the branch, and Amor instinctively reached for Valdor again. The warrior caught his wrist gently before his hand could slip against the bark.
"I will return."
Valdor promised. One of Valdor’s hands remained around Amor’s waist until he appeared entirely satisfied with his balance, while the other adjusted the loose heel of Amor’s shoe so it would not fall. The tenderness of those movements contrasted so sharply with the violence waiting below that Amor forgot to protest further.
"Do not move from here."
Valdor said.
"I am sitting several yards above the ground in impractical shoes. Where, precisely, do you imagine I intend to go?"
Valdor’s gaze lingered upon him for one reassuring heartbeat. Then he jumped.
He landed upon the path in a low crouch just as the ram turned toward him, the force of his descent scattering leaves and loose dirt around his feet. Without Amor beside him, something within Valdor’s posture changed completely. The gentle restraint he had shown the horses, goats, and piglet disappeared, replaced by a predatory stillness that made the enraged animal seem suddenly less dangerous than the man facing it.
The ram charged again.
Valdor did not retreat.
He waited until the animal came close enough that Amor’s breath caught, then shifted aside with startling speed and seized one of the spiraled horns in both hands. The collision dragged Valdor’s feet several inches through the soil, carving deep lines beneath his heels, but he remained upright. His arms flexed, every black tribal marking warping across hardened muscle as he forced the ram’s head away from the tree.
The animal bellowed and thrashed, attempting to wrench itself free.
Valdor tightened his grip and drove his shoulder against the side of its neck, redirecting the enormous body through strength and leverage rather than simply resisting it. The ram’s hooves tore at the earth while Valdor pushed it backward, step by brutal step, increasing the distance between the animal and the oak where Amor sat. His expression remained calm, though the muscles along his jaw hardened with concentration.
From the branch, Amor watched with wide pink eyes.
He had known Valdor was powerful; no one could look upon the warrior’s body and imagine otherwise. Yet observing that strength used against a living creature was entirely different from admiring it beneath the pleasant afternoon light. Valdor controlled the massive ram as though wrestling an unruly hound, his bare feet finding balance wherever the animal attempted to throw him.
There was no hesitation within him.
He did not appear frightened, angry, or excited by the struggle. Valdor moved with the brutal efficiency of someone who had faced creatures far larger and more dangerous, treating the ram not as an opponent but as a threat requiring removal. Every adjustment carried the same purpose:
Keep its horns turned away from Amor and force it beyond the point where another charge could reach the tree.
Amor leaned slightly forward, gripping the branch with one hand. Valdor glanced upward immediately.
Their eyes met through the leaves, and the warrior’s expression tightened when he saw Amor watching. He pushed the ram farther along the trail, maneuvering the struggling animal behind a dense cluster of shrubs and young trees until its body disappeared from Amor’s sight. Only Valdor’s broad shoulders remained briefly visible between the branches.
"Valdor?"
Amor called.
"I am here."
The answer reached him from beyond the foliage.
Valdor waited until the tree and undergrowth fully concealed both him and the ram from Amor’s view. The animal continued fighting, jerking its heavy head from side to side and scraping its hooves across the ground in frantic attempts to regain leverage. It could not be safely returned alive while agitated, and allowing it to escape deeper into the estate would endanger workers, servants, or children who possessed no high branch within reach.
Valdor adjusted his hands around both horns.
He planted one foot against the ram’s shoulder, twisted its head sharply in one direction, and pulled the powerful body in the other. The movement was fast, precise, and accompanied by a single dull crack. The animal collapsed instantly, its weight dropping motionless into the grass before it could release another sound.
Valdor remained over it for several breaths, ensuring the ram felt nothing further.
He had taken no pleasure in killing livestock that might otherwise have continued serving the household, but once it threatened Amor, the question of mercy had changed. A dangerous animal could not be allowed another opportunity to charge him. Even if the ram had escaped through fear rather than aggression, Valdor would not risk Amor’s delicate body against the possibility of a second mistake.
He released the horns and turned toward the oak.
Amor remained precisely where Valdor had placed him, seated against the trunk with lavender hair spilling around him and pale fabric drifting from the branch. From below, he resembled one of the small flowers Valdor admired in the mountains that bloomed high above, improbably delicate against rough bark and deep green leaves and entirely untouched. The sight awakened a fierce tenderness within Valdor that he still lacked the words to name.
He crossed the distance quickly and leapt into the tree once more. Amor watched him rise through the air with renewed astonishment, though this time he was prepared when Valdor landed upon the branch beside him.
"You must explain how a man of your size continues defying gravity."
"Strong legs."
"That explanation lacks important details."
Valdor crouched before him and examined his face, arms, and clothing for injuries he might have overlooked earlier. His broad hands hovered near Amor’s shoulders before lightly touching them, then traveled down his sleeves without disturbing the delicate fabric. Amor endured the inspection with amused patience until Valdor reached his ankles.
"I told you I’m unharmed."
Valdor adjusted the strap of Amor’s loosened shoe.
"The branch moved."
"The branch only shook but didn’t break."
"You could have fallen."
"I didn’t."
Only after confirming that both heeled shoes remained securely fastened did Valdor appear satisfied. He rose and slid one arm behind Amor’s back while the other passed beneath his knees. The movement gathered Amor effortlessly from the branch, drawing him into the same secure hold as before.
Amor’s arms circled Valdor’s neck automatically.
The warrior paused.
Their faces were suddenly close enough that Amor could see the faint variations within Valdor’s supposedly black eyes, subtle gold speckled undertones warmed by sunlight filtering through the leaves. Valdor’s gaze moved from Amor’s eyes to his plump lips, then returned with visible effort. Neither man spoke.
The branch shifted beneath Valdor’s feet. He tightened his hold and jumped down.
Amor experienced the brief rush of falling before Valdor landed with bent knees, absorbing the impact so thoroughly that the movement barely jarred him. One moment they were suspended beneath the canopy, and the next Valdor stood firmly upon the woodland path with Amor held against his chest. The warrior did not lower him immediately.
"Valdor?"
Amor murmured, though the name carried none of the warning he intended.
"I am making certain the ground is stable."
Amor looked pointedly toward the dry, perfectly ordinary earth beneath them.
"How conscientious."
Valdor ignored the implication and began lowering him with painstaking care.
One arm remained securely around Amor’s waist while the other shifted from beneath his knees, guiding his legs downward until the pointed heels of his shoes approached the path. Valdor watched each foot as though placing something precious upon uncertain ground, lowering Amor one measured inch at a time. Only when both heels stood firmly upon the soil did his attention return upward.
He still did not release him.
Valdor’s arms remained wrapped around Amor, one broad hand resting against the small of his back while the other curved protectively around his side. Their bodies were pressed close enough that the soft layers of Amor’s tunic offered little separation from the heat of Valdor’s bare chest. Amor’s hands, meanwhile, had not left the warrior’s shoulders.
The realization caused color to spread across Amor’s pale cheeks. He became acutely aware of every point of contact between them:
The firmness of Valdor’s body, the roughness of the scars beneath his fingertips, and the slow rise and fall of the warrior’s chest against his own. Valdor smelled of woodsmoke, leather, and warm skin, mingled now with the clean scent of crushed leaves. Amor had been carried by servants and dance partners before, at least within the memories belonging to this body, but none of those encounters had left his heart beating with such humiliating intensity.
Valdor stared down at him.
The warrior’s expression remained serious, though the heat in his obsidian eyes contradicted the careful neutrality of his face. His thumb moved once against Amor’s back, tracing a small circle through the fine fabric before becoming still. The gesture might have been accidental.
Amor did not believe it was. Neither of them pulled away.
The woodland seemed unnaturally quiet around them, as though even the birds had paused to observe the delicate nobleman standing within the arms of a nearly naked warrior. Amor knew the sensible response would be to step back, straighten his clothing, and restore the proper distance expected between people who had met only hours earlier. Instead, he tilted his face upward by the smallest degree.
Valdor’s gaze dropped toward his mouth again. Several deeply inappropriate moments passed.
Amor could feel the warrior’s breath against his cheek as Valdor leaned subtly lower, slow and warm, while Valdor’s hand remained spread across his narrow waist as though memorizing its shape. There was nothing forceful within the embrace; Amor could have withdrawn whenever he wished. The fact that neither moved made the intimacy more dangerous than any act of possession could have been. Valdor finally broke the silence.
"I killed the ram."
Amor blinked.
The abrupt declaration struck the delicate tension between them with all the refinement of an axe splitting firewood.
"You certainly know how to preserve a moment."
"It would have charged again."
"I assumed you did more than politely persuade it to reconsider."
Valdor studied Amor’s face, perhaps uncertain whether he had caused offense.
"You are safe now."
The simple statement restored some of the warmth the announcement had shattered. Amor glanced toward the path behind Valdor, though the ram remained hidden beyond the bushes.
"Did it suffer?"
"No."
"Good."
Valdor’s hand shifted slightly higher along Amor’s back.
"You should return to the mansion."
Amor’s eyebrows rose.
"Are you dismissing me from my own woodland?"
"You should be examined by a shaman."
"A shaman?"
"To ensure the fright did not harm you."
Amor almost informed him that fright did not generally injure healthy adults, then remembered that Blackstone spirit-speakers, or shamans as they seem to be translated as, might serve the same practical function as physicians within the tribe.
"I believe the word you want is doctor, and I have no need of one."
"You were shaken."
"I was lifted into a tree by an enormous man while a ram attempted to destroy the trunk beneath me. A degree of surprise was reasonable."
Valdor’s expression suggested surprise itself justified medical examination. Amor sighed, realizing resistance would prolong the argument and perhaps encourage Valdor to carry him all the way to the manor. The thought was not entirely unpleasant, which made agreeing to walk considerably safer.
"Very well. I will allow the household physician to confirm that I remain miraculously intact..."
Valdor inclined his head. His arms still did not move. Amor looked down meaningfully at the hand around his waist.
"You must release me if you expect me to return."
Valdor’s fingers tightened once before gradually loosening.
The reluctance within the gesture was unmistakable, and Amor found himself unexpectedly disappointed when the warrior’s warmth finally withdrew. Cool air settled between their bodies, leaving the space strangely empty after several moments of intimate contact. Amor smoothed the front of his tunic, more to occupy his hands than because the fabric required adjustment.
"What will you do?"
He asked.
"I will take the ram to the farm."
"For burial?"
"For dinner..."
Amor stared at him. Valdor continued with complete seriousness.
"The meat should not be wasted. I will ask whether the animal was sick or behaving strangely, then help prepare it if it is safe."
"You intend to turn my attacker into supper?"
"Yes."
The practicality was so thoroughly Blackstone that Amor could not decide whether to laugh or feel mildly vindicated.
"I suppose that is one way to ensure it never charges anyone again."
Valdor looked toward the concealed carcass.
"Ram meat requires proper seasoning."
Amor’s lips twitched.
"Is your concern now whether or not the creature that nearly impaled me going to be delicious?"
"I want tonight’s food to please you."
The answer came without hesitation. Amor’s amusement softened into something warmer, though he hid the change by opening his fan.
"I am capable of eating foods that aren’t covered in sugar, you know."
Valdor glanced toward his narrow waist.
"You should eat more meat."
"And there it is. I wondered how long your concern for my apparently inadequate diet would remain buried."
"It was not buried."
"No, I suppose it was not!"
Amor looked back toward the deeper woodland trail, reluctant to admit that he had expected their walk to continue for at least another hour. The afternoon had passed with surprising ease, and even the ram’s attack had failed to make Valdor’s company feel burdensome. Having their strange little outing brought to an end by an escaped animal left him more disappointed than the situation reasonably deserved.
"I had intended to show you the old watchtower near the estate boundary..."
Amor said with a small pout.
"It has an excellent view of the western hills."
Valdor’s eyes settled upon him.
"Another day."
"You appear certain I will agree."
"You said we would walk more of the grounds."
"That is not precisely a promise."
"It is intention."
Amor recognized the echo of their earlier conversation and smiled behind his fan.
"Very well. Another day."
The agreement visibly pleased Valdor, though his expression remained as solemn as ever. He stepped closer once more, reaching toward Amor’s hair, and carefully removed a fragment of bark caught among the lavender strands. His rough fingers lingered near Amor’s cheek for a heartbeat before lowering.
"Go..."
Valdor said gently.
"I will find you later."
Amor should have objected to the command.
Instead, he gave a graceful nod and turned toward the path leading back to the manor. His heels clicked softly over the packed earth as he walked away, one hand gathering the edge of his flowing tunic whenever roots disrupted the trail. He glanced back once after several steps. Valdor remained watching him.
The warrior stood exactly where Amor had left him, his immense body outlined beneath the shifting sunlight, arms resting at his sides while his obsidian eyes followed Amor’s retreat. Amor lifted his fan in a small farewell gesture. Valdor touched one fist to his chest in answer.
Amor continued toward the estate.
He remained unaware that Valdor had deliberately kept him from approaching the dead ram. The kill had been clean, but death was still ugly in its stillness, and the animal’s twisted position beneath the crushed grass would have disturbed the cultivated serenity surrounding Amor. Valdor had seen enough blood, broken bodies, and final breaths to consider them ordinary, but ordinary did not mean they belonged near someone he already associated with soft flowers, sweet cakes, and laughter beneath sunlight.
’Anything dirty or ugly should remain far from Amor.’
The thought contained no disdain for death or the work required to sustain life. Valdor understood that meat came from living creatures, that protection required violence, and that beauty could grow from funeral ash. Yet another instinct—protective, tender, and still unnamed—insisted that Amor should not be forced to stand beside the unpleasant things Valdor could carry for him instead.
Valdor wanted only good things to reach him. He wanted Amor’s days filled with food that made his pink eyes brighten, gardens where nothing charged from the undergrowth, and people who handled his trust as carefully as Valdor had handled his body while lowering him from the tree. He wanted to stand between Amor and every threat before it came close enough to leave another bruise upon his pale skin. The desire was not prideful; Valdor did not believe Amor helpless or incapable of surviving ugliness.
He simply did not believe Amor should always have to. Once Amor disappeared around the bend, Valdor returned to the ram.
The animal lay motionless where he had left it, its thick body partly concealed beneath the shrubs. Valdor crouched and examined its eyes, mouth, and coat for signs of disease, then ran his hands along its limbs and abdomen to determine whether illness or injury had driven the sudden aggression. He found no obvious sickness, only the heavy scent of agitation and a raw patch near one horn where the animal had likely struck the fence repeatedly before escaping.
"Maybe a bad temper then?"
Valdor concluded. He grasped the ram by its legs and lifted it with effortless strength.
The enormous animal must have weighed more than several grown men could comfortably carry together, yet Valdor swung it over one shoulder as though hoisting a loosely packed sack of feathers. Its woolly body settled across his back, the curled horns resting safely behind him while one arm held it in place. He turned toward the farm and began walking.
The path carried him through the woodland with none of the earlier leisure he had enjoyed beside Amor. Without a smaller companion whose heeled steps required accommodation, Valdor moved swiftly, covering the distance between the trees and pastures with long strides. Workers near the outer fence stopped what they were doing when they saw him emerge carrying the missing ram.
Valdor ignored their astonishment.
He would explain how the animal escaped, ensure the broken fence was repaired, and determine whether the meat remained suitable for the household kitchens. If it did, he would assist with the butchering himself rather than leave the work entirely to servants unfamiliar with making the best use of a large animal. Blackstone hunters wasted nothing that could still provide food, hide, tools, or bone. His thoughts, however, remained upon Amor.
Valdor imagined him seated at the dinner table beneath golden candlelight, examining the roasted meat with suspicious pink eyes before finally tasting it. He wondered which herbs would suit the delicate nobleman’s preferences and whether the cooks possessed enough knowledge to tenderize a ram that had spent years building dense muscle. Perhaps honey could be used in the glaze.
’Amor enjoyed sweetness.’
With the dead ram resting easily across his shoulder, Valdor continued toward the farm, already planning how its meat should be prepared. He had protected Amor from the animal while it lived, and now he intended to turn the threat into something warm and nourishing upon Amor’s plate. The idea pleased him with the same deep simplicity as the promise that they would walk together again.
’Tonight...’
Valdor hoped.
’The dinner will make Amor smile.’