Chapter 2: LOIREN THE GODDESS

Chapter 2:

Loiren the goddess

She was among the women who wove by the fire, her hands busy with the loom, her fingers trailing over the threads like a lover's touch. Her name? she did not offer it to him. She simply was, like the river, like the mountains, like the breath of wind through the trees.

She did not stare at him the way the others did. She did not lean in with curiosity, did not ask him what lay beyond the valley. But she watched.

And Errin felt her watching.

The days passed, and the valley took him in. They showed him how to track the deer, how to twist rope from the valley reeds, how to read the sky. He was no longer the outsider, but something else—something becoming.

But it was her that lingered in his mind. The way she moved, the way the firelight curled against her skin, the way her hands were both strong and soft. She did not smile at him, not fully, but when their eyes met, he felt something shift inside him, like the river changing course.

The Night Watch

One evening, he was given a place by the fire. The elder sat beside him, silent, chewing thoughtfully on a pipe of herbs. The night was cool, and the sky stretched wide above them, endless and untouched.

Then she was there.

She sat across from him, her legs tucked beneath her, the firelight licking at the curve of her throat. She did not speak, only met his gaze, holding it, daring him to look away. He did not.

A small smile played on her lips. Not an invitation. Not a challenge. Just… knowing.

Later, when the fires dimmed and the village drifted into sleep, Errin did not return to his hut. Instead, he walked, aimless, his body restless in a way that had nothing to do with the mountain cold.

And then—

A whisper of movement behind him. He turned.

She stood at the edge of the trees, the moonlight pooling at her feet. Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders in a dark curtain. She said nothing. She only looked at him.

And he went to her.

The Language of Hands

There were no words. There was only breath, only the press of bodies against rough bark, only the heat that crackled between them like fire in the deep woods.

Her hands mapped him like she was learning something sacred—fingers tracing the ridges of his spine, his shoulders, the rough lines of his jaw. His hands found the curve of her waist, the dip of her back, the softness that made him ache.

Her mouth was warm, her lips parting against his like a sigh, like something inevitable. She tasted of the valley—of wild berries and smoke, of something he had never known but suddenly needed.

The night wrapped around them, the scent of earth and pine thick in the air. When he pressed his forehead to hers, their breath mingled, hot and unsteady.

"Stay," she murmured.

"You never told me your name" he spoke

I will tell you if you will stay.

He did.

The Turning

Days passed, and the valley changed him. Or perhaps, it simply revealed what had always been inside him.

He worked beside the hunters, learning the silent language of the forest. He wove with the women, his fingers clumsy at first, then surer. He listened to the elders' stories, not of gods and empires, but of the river's moods, of the way the wind shifted before the rains.

And at night—

At night, he found Lioren.

They never spoke of it, never acknowledged the way their bodies tangled in the darkness, the way she led him deeper into the valley's secrets, the way she taught him things that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with knowing.

Himself,her,the valley....,.everything

One night, as she lay against him, her breath slowing, he traced a finger down the slope of her shoulder. "Tell me," he murmured. "Why do you stay here? Have you never wanted to leave?"

She turned to him, her eyes dark, unreadable. "And go where?"

"There is more beyond the mountains."

She smiled, something almost sad curling at the edges. "More what?"

He hesitated. He had no answer.

She reached for him, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him close. "We do not need more." Her lips brushed his ear. "We only need this."

And he understood.

The Choice is made....

The snows came, locking the valley away from the world. The mountains rose like sentinels, their passes buried, their slopes impassable. He could not leave, even if he wanted to.

But by the time the thaw came, he no longer wanted to.

One morning, he sat by the river, watching the water carve its way through the valley, strong and endless.

The elder came beside him.

"The passes will open soon," he said.

Errin nodded.

The elder studied him. "Will you go?"