The deeper Nia followed Kael into the settlement, the more aware she became of how naturally the entire place seemed built around shared living. Large communal shelters stood between smaller homes spread across the flatter land near the mountain base, while higher above, dark cave openings cut into the stone cliffs overlooked everything below. Firelight flickered against wet rock walls through the rain, casting warm orange light across paths worn smooth by constant use, and despite the weather, people moved everywhere through it.
Some carried baskets beneath woven coverings stretched over their heads while others hauled bundles of wood or dragged fresh kills toward smoking fires near the outer structures. Children darted between larger figures before being redirected with practiced ease by older women carrying clay bowls and folded hides, and through all of it, people moved aside for Kael without hesitation, without announcement, without anyone needing to say a word. The reaction traveled ahead of him naturally each time another group noticed him approaching — conversations lowered, paths cleared, and several beastmen dipped their heads slightly before continuing whatever task they had been doing, while Kael acknowledged most of it with little more than a glance.
Nia matched his pace as closely as her ankle allowed and kept her attention outward rather than letting herself stare too obviously at everything around her, because it all felt too important to miss. The structures, the scents, the movement patterns, the way families clustered together near fires while others disappeared farther upward toward the caves — it painted a clearer picture of the world than anything she had seen since waking in the forest.
Warmth rolled outward from the largest shelter near the center of the settlement when Kael guided her beneath the heavy timber structure. Thick hides blocked most of the wind from reaching inside, and the heat from several large fires spread through the open interior strongly enough that sensation began returning to fingers that had gone numb long ago. The shelter itself felt lived in rather than ceremonial — low wooden tables sat near woven baskets filled with dried roots and herbs, stacks of carved bowls lined shelves built directly into the support beams, and large furs covered sections of the floor near the fires where several beastmen sat repairing tools or sorting through bundles of plants.
Conversation lowered again the moment Kael entered, and Nia became acutely aware of how many eyes shifted toward her — not openly hostile, but curious and shocked, several expressions holding the same disbelief she had already started noticing since entering the settlement, though nobody approached recklessly and even those staring kept a respectful distance from Kael while watching him guide her toward the largest fire.
"You should sit before your leg gives out completely," Kael said, and Nia almost argued on instinct before realizing he was probably right. The moment she lowered herself carefully onto one of the thick furs near the fire, pain flared sharply through her ankle from bending it wrong, and she sucked in a breath despite herself while heat from the flames spread slowly through her soaked clothes.
Kael crouched in front of her, his gaze dropping toward her ankle before his hand moved toward it and paused midway. The hesitation caught her attention more than the movement itself, because he was waiting. Nia glanced briefly around the shelter, noting the several nearby beastmen who had gone suspiciously quiet while pretending not to watch too closely, then looked back at him.
"You can look," she said, and his eyes lifted briefly to her face before he rested one large hand carefully against her ankle.
Warmth spread through her skin. His hands always felt unnaturally warm — even standing in freezing rain earlier, the heat coming from him had remained constant enough that she noticed it every single time he touched her. He examined the swelling with surprising gentleness, his claws never scraping her skin despite how sharp they looked, and she had already become increasingly aware that every movement he made around her carried the same careful restraint.
"You put your full weight on it after twisting it," he said.
"That tends to happen when walking through dangerous forests becomes necessary."
A quiet rumble spread through his chest, and she had already spent enough time around him to recognize amusement when she heard it.
"You enjoy being right too much."
Kael glanced up at her. "You say that like it's unusual."
"It's unusual when someone keeps proving it every five minutes."
The faint shift near the corner of his mouth softened his expression enough that her attention lingered a second longer than intended, and Kael's gaze remained on her a moment longer than she liked while the warmth from his hand continued spreading through her ankle. Nia redirected her attention toward the fire before her own expression gave away too much.
The older antlered man from earlier approached slowly from the side of the shelter, and up close, the lines near his eyes and the calm steadiness in his posture made him seem far less intimidating than some of the larger beastmen surrounding them.
"You found her in the western forest?" he asked Kael, who nodded once.
"Near the river cliffs."
"Alone?" the older man asked, and Nia answered before Kael could.
"I got separated farther south than I intended."
The explanation sat close enough to truth that she delivered it smoothly, and the older man watched her for several seconds before nodding.
"You were lucky the storm drove you toward our territory instead of farther west," he said, and Nia resisted the urge to ask what existed there, because questions required caution.
Before the conversation could continue, a younger beastman approached carrying a shallow wooden bowl with both hands, brown ears twitching nervously atop his head while his eyes flicked repeatedly toward Kael before lowering again.
"Chief," he said carefully, offering the bowl forward.
Kael accepted it, and the younger man relaxed visibly before retreating several steps.
Nia watched the entire interaction while holding back the instinct to stare openly at the title — chief, which explained several things — and then Kael handed her the bowl without comment.
Steam curled upward carrying the scent of meat stock and herbs, and the warmth alone made her stomach tighten painfully with sudden hunger, a reminder that she had not eaten since arriving in this world.
"Thank you," she said, accepting the bowl carefully while Kael remained crouched beside her.
She lifted it cautiously to her lips. The broth tasted simple, not unpleasant, but unfinished — the stock itself carried richness and the herbs added bitterness and earthiness beneath the surface, but there was no layering of flavor beyond basic nourishment, no spice balance, no aromatics, no depth built intentionally into the dish itself. The realization came automatically, because food had always been one of the first ways she understood people. Cooking reflected culture, scarcity, comfort, and care, and this tasted functional.
Kael watched her expression while she considered the broth.
"You don't like it," he said.
"I didn't say that."
"You made the same face you made when you stepped in mud earlier."
The older antlered man looked openly curious now, and Nia glanced down at the bowl before answering carefully.
"The broth itself is good. It just tastes like it was made for strength instead of enjoyment."
Several nearby beastmen looked toward her immediately, and Kael's attention sharpened slightly.
"There's a difference?"
Nia looked up at him in surprise before remembering that not everyone treated food the same way she did.
"Of course there is," she said, and the older antlered man lowered himself near the fire across from them.
"Explain," he said.
Nia shifted the bowl between her hands while warmth spread gradually back into her fingers.
"The herbs are balancing the richness from the meat," she said slowly, "but there's nothing lifting the flavor afterward — no contrast. It fills you up, but it doesn't make you want another mouthful after you finish swallowing."
Silence settled briefly around the nearest part of the shelter while Kael continued watching her with the same focused attention he seemed to give everything she did.
"You can tell all that from one sip?"
"Can't everyone?" she frowned, and the older antlered man laughed quietly beneath his breath.
"No," he answered. "Most people only care whether it keeps them alive through winter."
Nia looked back down at the broth and let that settle. The food culture here clearly centered around survival and sustenance first — efficient nutrition, preservation, practicality — and flavor itself seemed secondary, or perhaps unnecessary entirely, while she had spent half her life treating it like comfort, celebration, creativity, and emotional survival all at once.
Kael's gaze never left her face while she thought.
"You relax when you eat," he said quietly, and the observation startled her enough that she looked up immediately. He leaned one forearm against his knee beside her while firelight moved across the dark gold of his eyes.
"It's the first time since I found you that you stopped looking ready to run."
Heat crept unexpectedly into her face, mostly because he was right. Food had always done that to her — even during the hardest years at the orphanage, meals had remained one of the few moments where tension eased naturally from her body, and cooking, eating, and sharing warmth around food settled somewhere deep inside her in ways she had never fully learned to separate from comfort itself.
She took another sip of the broth while trying not to look too affected by the observation, though Kael's attention remained entirely on her anyway.
The older antlered man noticed too.
"You're looking at her like you found treasure," he said mildly, and the entire shelter became noticeably quieter.
Nia nearly choked on the broth, but Kael looked completely unbothered by the statement, his eyes remaining fixed steadily on her while he answered with calm certainty.
"I did."