She feared—

He feared.

And in the long look that seeks the otochi’s face, her narrow vulpine chest, her sinuous limbs, the plume of a tail thick and commanding, is this well of emotion; loosening, tightening, and last resolving into something in between, a fierce stoicism which wavers only when her voice cuts out in familiar affection.

“You can’t fuss over me anymore, woman.” Khaan grimaces with difficulty, trod taking him closer more urgently than pride will disguise.

Before him at last she is there, the known piebald as endearing as ever. Batu waits for no permission, pulling her from the ground to breathe in her memories and travels.

“It’s good to see your face, Sara.”

A ger for her green stores she would have, a place for wounded soldiers and pregnant mothers. But first Saranai would eat and rest and Batu would gaze at her beneath the moon and see she is with them again. Real. Alive.