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She had been in this exact situation before. The chill of the night long having seeped between the boards of the room, her toes and fingers near numb beneath layers of furs and woven blankets. But Primrose wouldn't have changed this moment for anything. No, the quiet of dawn was just starting to break with birdsong, cries for the rising sun just beyond the thatched roof of H'aanit's hut.

The forest, even the Darkwood, was no quiet place at night. The rustle of leaves, the last cries of the summer cicadas, mourning the coming of autumn, the howling cries of beasts, hunting for home, for love, for prey. She heard them all through the night as she had been in and out of a listless but comfortable slumber.

But more than the sounds of any creature, more than the night's revelries, the flow of honey mead and wine thick with grape drippings, a feast of the forest's bounty, from both the hunters who had competed in that morning's festival and all the other hands in S’warkii. Primrose had certainly eaten her fill, quenched her physical thirst, and with some of the other visiting dancers, spun wildly before the crowd. It had been a while since she had danced so much, or enjoyed it as much as she did there in the humble S’warkii town square. Even now, for how much her feet ached, her heart felt light. Perhaps that was because of this repeated predicament.

There wasn't much in the way of lodgings in Swaarki. A simple inn with a few rooms, but by the time she had agreed to come to the festival, those had long been rented out to other travelers. Dear, sweet H'aanit had an amicable solution though. Her own hut was spacious enough, and not having to pay for lodgings was also nice. Not that Primrose didn't have money. But laying on the floor on a mat of straw and wool and under furs and fleeces, she could hardly complain. Especially with the company.

Not just herself, but across from her, Ophilia slept, angelic faced and peaceful, hopefully lost in a wonderful dream of some sort. And between the two of them, lay H'aanit.

She was awake too. Primrose could tell by the subtle change in her heartbeat, in the miniscule motions of her body as she adjusted to being pinned between the two of them once again.

The warmth simmering in her chest, filling the absence that her quest for revenge had left her with felt... nice. There was comfort here, in this room, in this moment, with these two kindred souls, more comfort than she had known in many years.

But H’aanit slowly moved, pulling away from them, wriggling out from underneath Linde’s weight as well, to stand. Primrose did not bother shutting her own eyes or pretending to be asleep, but with the way H’aanit stooped, ruffling Linde’s ears, her consciousness must have been missed.

“Taken care of them while I am gone, Linde. I will returnth soon.”

And taking up her satchel, H’aanit slipped out of the hut, into the bright light of morning. Linde shifted, flopping her weight down in the warm spot that H’aanit’s form had left in the pile of furs and straw. Almost instinctively, Ophilia in her dreaming nuzzled closer. It was a sweet sight, one Primrose had found adorable many times before, and would likely many times again. But she could lay there no longer, the warmth of morning making her flesh feel uneasy in relaxation. She needed to be moving.

Although she had not stayed in the hut overnight before, she knew her way around H’aanit’s simple hearth and set a pot of water on to boil, stirring the embers to stoke the fire a bit. It wasn’t much longer before H’aanit returned, the scent of fresh bread wafting from her pack. For a second she stood in the doorway, simply staring.

“Cat got your tongue?” Primrose asked with a low laugh. “I figured it was best to get started on breakfast.”

“Twas mine own intention as well.” 

She smiled, tilting her face up. “I thought as much. You’re rather easy to read.”

H’aanit hummed, settling in beside her. From her bag, she pulled a loaf of fresh bread, steam still seeping from its crust. She set it by the fire, and poured off water from the boiling pot into a smaller one that she laid directly on top of the embers. She did not speak as she chopped up a hunk of dried, salted meat, and potatoes and carrots to add.

This was really going to be up to Primrose, wasn’t it? Otherwise, the three of them would merely dance around it, again and again, a series of near misses, of almost but not quotes, arrows missed and steps misstepped. Between H’aanit’s soft shyness that hid behind the mask she wore as a great huntress and Ophilia’s own bashfulness, it was going to fall to her to complete the circle, to speak the truth. It was there. It was there boiling just below the surface of their every interaction, an unspoken warmth, a depth like she was unsure she had ever felt. Two pangs of pain in her heart, two torches carried through the darkness, flames still bright. 

All this time, Primrose had held these feelings tight in her chest, squashing down the teasing that threatened every time to reveal its burning truth, sarcasm used to hide the true depth of what she felt, and for whom. At first, H’aanit and Ophilia were annoying for the way they were both, in different ways, so innocent, pure and untouched by a world that sought to tarnish every woman. But even for their own struggles, they had endured, and with them, they had pulled Primrose along, never questioning her journey for revenge, but instead walking beside her without judgement. And that night in that little inn, sleeping together on the floor, huddled under every fur that H’aanit had on her, she had realized the truth. Perhaps long before H’aanit or Ophilia had. 

So it fell to her.

“You like Ophilia, do you not?” She said, barely a whisper over the crackling of the fire.

H’aanit sat silent for a long moment, watching the stirring of her pot much more closely than even the finest chef, either totally engrossed in her work or simply avoiding Primrose’s gaze.

”Aye.“

”So what's stopping you?“

”Tis... a shade more difficult than that.“ Still her eyes did not move from the rippling surface of the pot.

”Oh?“ Why did her own words taste so bitter?

”Aye.“

”And why is that?“

”I haven a greedy heart.“

”Not you, H'aanit. There's no greed in you. I would have seen it by now.”

“There is. For yes, I liken Ophilia. She warmen my heart.” H'aanit's clear, pale eyes looked up from the pot finally, catching her in their gaze as if her truest arrow had just flown from her bow. “But thou doth as well.”

A bit of nervous laughter bubbled up her throat. She had wanted to hear those words, hadn't she? But in the seconds after the nervousness faded, the warmth returned, both to her heart and her cheeks. How long had it been since she had blushed like this?

“This is less complicated than you make it.”

“How so?”

Sweet H'aanit , she thought, wishing she could hide her own expression. Are you truly so oblivious?

“If any of us three can be accused of greed, it's me.” And although she had intended to carry the next words quietly with her the rest of her days, they fell out of her mouth all the same, and she could not find it in herself to regret them. They were true, truer than any scripture in any church. So she spoke those words with confidence, with every fiber of her own being. “I love the both of you.”

“Thou doth...?”

“For as sharp as your eyes are, you've missed a great many signs.”

It was H'aanit's turn to flush, freckled cheeks lighting up as red as her own hair. ”I... I am better withen the hearts of beasts than those of people.“

That was something that Primrose had known since she'd first laid eyes on H'aanit, since they'd exchanged their first words, since she walked with a quiet confidence but rarely spoke. Z'aanta hadn't been exaggerating when he said that others found her cold and unapproachable. But Primrose had never seen that. She'd seen nothing but innocence and confidence. Ophilia saw it, too. She must have. Primrose hadn't missed how intently Ophilia had watched her during the festival. In truth, Primrose could barely keep her eyes off H'aanit as well, the burning thread of her feelings looped her heart, once over, twice over, two names bound there. That thread knitted its way through her scars, through the wounds that marred her skin and her heart.

Leaning forward, Primrose pressed close, the tips of her fingers pushing a wild lock of H'aanit's hair from her face. “And yet you've managed to capture two so easily. I should expect nothing less of Swaarkii's greatest huntress.”

“Tease me not.” Those pale eyes flitted away, but the weight of H'aanit's head sunk into her waiting hand.

“And why shouldn't I when it's really so much fun?”

“Twould it be too forward of me to kissen thou?”

“Nay,” Primrose smiled, pressing her forehead against H'aanit's. “I've been waiting for you to just do it.”

Between them, the pot was left to bubble as H'aanit's hand cupped her cheek, palm, fingertips warm and calloused, but ever gentle. In the breath just before their lips met, she heard a final whisper from H'aanit.

”Thou doth deserve a genteel courtship.”

The press of their lips together made the waves of joy bubble up against her ribs, lapping at the edges of her heart, her throat, her eyes. But she did not cry. There was no place here in this loving moment for tears. She had shed all that she had had long ago.

”I think it is more Ophilia who will need the genteel handling,” she said as she pulled back, her eyes lingering on H'aanit for a moment longer before she turned toward the lump of their companion in the furs next to Linde, a lump that had slowly been stirring for a few moments now. “What do you say, Ophilia?”

Before she was even sitting up fully, Primrose could see the burning of her cheeks, lighting her face up brightly. She had none of H'aanit's constellations of freckles, but the paleness of her skin made her look a little blotchy, but still cute. She sat amid the furs for a moment, hair roughed from sleep, looking at them in disbelief.

“How long hath thou been awake?” H'aanit asked, lowering her hand from Primrose's face, settling instead on her hand. 

“Since you left this morning.” 

With one hand, she covered her face, but it was no use. The burning of her cheeks, the tense, unsure smile on her lips. They were proof enough that Primrose hadn't misjudged the look in those eyes as they had held hands there in the canopy, watching the festival. 

”Is... is it true?“ she asked, almost peeking around her hand. ”I wasn't just dreaming?“

Reaching out one hand, Primrose pulled her gently across the distance, into their little haven before the fire, where the pot still bubbled, where her heart felt fit to burst. 

A single year before, Primrose had thought her heart hardened, turned to stone with moss left to grow over its surface, shrivel and blackened with pain. But now, beneath it all, that shell had softened, had broken over their time together, and where once there was only rage, a new bird had hatched, one that she had known once upon a time, one she had thought long dead.

Joy .

”You heard every word just so,“ Primrose said, brushing her thumb over the back of Ophilia's hand. Those cheeks as red as summer strawberries, those deep brown eyes wet with tears of joy. One of Primrose's favorite expressions. 

“I speaketh naught but truth.” 

H'aanit took Ophilia's other hand in her own, holding it with the same tenderness which she held Primrose's with. 

“It...“ Ophilia said, taking a deep breath to keep herself from stuttering. ”It feels like a dream come true.“

”Aye, for mine self as well.“

But no dream of Primrose's had ever been as sweet as this reality. For that, she could only smile.

”Might I kissen thee, Ophilia?“

”Of course--“

”Now, now. Me first,“ Primrose said, her heart blooming in her chest. “I think that's fair.”

“Sure,“ Ophilia said, eyes crinkling with mirth. ”And then I can kiss H'aanit?“

”Yes.” Primrose leaned in and stole Ophilia's kiss, the softness of her lips different from H'aanit's. Variety and contrast. She could ask for nothing better.

She leaned away long enough to let H'aanit and Ophilia finally share a kiss, and those blossoms in her chest, expanded, grew into a garden. A place where she might tend in safety to the wounds of her past, and forge ahead, new trails and travels, new parts of the world, new experiences. 

Although their journey had ended months ago, for Primrose, this marked a brand new start.