Just as surely as Talo had fallen asleep first, he was the first to awaken.
The cold breath of night still clung to the ground, but the horizon had begun to glow — a low amber veil warming the edges of distant dunes.
Sand shifted softly as Rasha stirred beneath the blanket they'd shared, her body curled instinctively toward the last heat he'd left behind.
She blinked at the dawn light, bleary and slow, her breath misting faintly in the morning air.
Talo was gone.
She sat up, brushing sleep from her eyes, and scanned the sparse brushland beyond their little hollow. It didn't take long to spot him — a short distance away, perched on a flat stone with his back to her, hunched slightly in concentration.
At first she thought he might be meditating. But then she saw the movements — slow, methodical, purposeful — the careful twist of his wrist, the hush of stone against stone.
He was carving.
She didn't call out right away. She watched in silence, letting the hush stretch around them like breath held in reverence. The way he worked was different than she remembered from their earliest days — no longer driven by tension or survival. This was something else. Something... peaceful.
She padded over quietly, the soles of her feet brushing through sand and pale rootgrass.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
Talo looked up, momentarily surprised. Then he smiled, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck.
"Making something."
As she stepped closer, she saw what he meant. Two small stone blades lay before him — dark gray, webbed with pale silver veins. They weren't refined, not by any master's measure. But they were shaped with care. Off to the side, two smooth wooden handles rested in the sun, still faintly damp from sanding. A strip of dried root-fiber sat neatly coiled beside them.
"I was thinking about yesterday," he said, eyes returning to his work. "When we trained."
Rasha crouched beside him, intrigued.
"You're good with the shadow maw form," he went on. "You move low. Quick. You don't waste energy. You strike when it matters."
He mimed one of her strikes with a quiet whoosh of air. "Thought maybe it was time you had your own fangs."
Her breath caught slightly.
"Fangs?"
Talo chuckled. "Small daggers. For speed. Close range. They won't overpower anything bigger than a jackal, but they'll give you options. Besides," he added, turning the blade in his hand, "we can't always rely on found weapons. Not anymore."
Rasha looked at the pieces — rough, but intentional. These weren't scavenged. They were made for her. Thoughtful. Grounded.
"You don't have to do this," she said softly.
"I know."
The quiet between them wasn't awkward — it settled like warm dust in the hollow of a moment that didn't need filling.
The sun rose higher, and with it came the rustle of small birds skimming between thorn-leaves, searching for warmth. Somewhere distant, a desert vole scurried beneath dry roots. The world was waking slowly.
Eventually, Rasha brushed a finger along the root-fiber cord.
"Can I help?"
Talo looked sideways, pleased. "Sure. I'll finish shaping this edge. You bind the blade."
He showed her the motion — over, under, twist tight — and handed her the materials. Rasha's hands fumbled at first, unfamiliar with the tension and grain, but she caught on quickly. Her fingers moved with a dancer's rhythm — light, then firm, then light again — and before long, the pieces began to resemble something whole.
When they finished the first, Talo weighed it in his palm.
"Not as sharp as I'd like," he muttered. "But not bad."
She eyed it, tilting her head. "Remember when you made that stick catch fire by accident?"
He winced. "I was trying not to remember."
She smiled. "What if you use that — not the flame, but the heat. Maybe if you feed the warmth through the blade, you can harden it. Just enough to hold its edge."
He blinked. "You think that would actually work?"
She offered the second blade. "Only one way to find out."
Talo cradled it carefully, closed his eyes, and focused.
This time, the warmth didn't burst. It seeped — slow, controlled — like coals left to smolder. The stone darkened subtly. Not scorched. Not cracked. Just... denser. The pale veins shimmered like moonlit threads.
Rasha leaned closer. "That's better."
He stared at the blade, surprised. "It feels... steadier."
"You're learning," she said.
They did the same with the second, working slowly. When both were bound and balanced, she slid them into her belt. They weren't ceremonial. They weren't even symmetrical. But they were hers.
Earned. Not found. Not gifted.
Made.
Talo stood and offered his hand.
"Come on. You need to learn to throw them."
She groaned. "Can't I just stab things?"
"Throwing's just stabbing... from a distance."
The next hour passed in laughter, curses, and trial.
Rasha's first throw went so wide it startled a desert bird from a nearby branch. Talo only laughed harder when she scowled.
But she improved fast.
Her arms remembered the weight.
Her hips found the rhythm.
The daggers flew straighter. Truer.
By the time they stopped, her brow was damp, her chest light, and her grin unstoppable.
Talo tossed her a canteen. "You're dangerous now."
She took a long drink, wiped her mouth. "Good. About time."
They packed their things slowly, deliberately. This place had been safe. Sacred, even. But it was time to move. The world was waiting — and for once, they didn't feel like they were running from it.
They walked side by side toward the sunlit ridge.
And behind them, in the stillness of morning, the stone where the blades had been carved caught the light — faintly glowing, as if it remembered their hands.