Chapter 160
Kane's POV
The twilight stretched everyone's shadow long across the camp's edge. I crouched beside the supply pile, counting those pitiful rations and water skins, trying to calculate how to make them last just a little longer.
"Kane."
The trembling, aged voice made me turn around. Faye leaned on her cane, hunched over as she shuffled toward me.
"Tomorrow is Dorothy's eighteenth birthday." Her voice was so soft the wind nearly carried it away. "According to wolf tradition, it's the most important coming-of-age."
I froze. Eighteenth birthday? My gaze involuntarily found that busy figure among the crowd.
She was crouched beside a wounded man, carefully wiping his festering wound with a torn cloth. Fine beads of sweat dotted her forehead, glistening in the firelight.
Her profile looked especially gentle, that focused expression as she tended to the injured stirring something complex inside me.
"Shame that in circumstances like these, we don't even have a decent piece of bread." Faye sighed, slowly turning to leave.
Her words planted themselves in my heart like a seed, quickly taking root. I thought of everything Dorothy had given on this journey. Tomorrow's battle held uncertain fate—we might all die at those rogues' hands, or be turned away by Stone Ridge Pack.
But at least—at least I should give her a proper birthday.
I stood and walked toward Steven. He was checking weapons.
"Steven." I lowered my voice. "I need to 'borrow' some supplies."
He startled first, then understanding dawned, a rare gentle smile touching his lips. "For the girl?"
I didn't answer, just nodded. Steven asked nothing more, quietly setting aside a small piece of precious dried meat, a few wild berries, and a pinch of honey from our stores.
These things would mean nothing in normal times, but now they were more precious than gold.
Over the next hour, I found a few young warriors and used my hands—rough as sandpaper—to clumsily shape these ingredients into something that could barely be called a "cake."
I even picked some wildflowers growing in the canyon, carefully arranging them along the edges.
"Steady hands when you're killing, but making a cake turns you into a cripple." Blaze mocked from deep in my consciousness.
I didn't argue back, just focused harder on adjusting those crooked flowers.
I remembered Ella once saying she liked flowers, but I'd never done anything like this for her. Back then I always thought there was time, always thought I could give her what she wanted after I'd taken back everything.
And what happened? I destroyed her with my own hands, destroyed our child, destroyed every possible future.
But at least this time, I wanted to get it right.
Night deepened and the camp gradually quieted.
I carried that crude "cake" toward Dorothy's tent, hearing the rhythmic sound of blade-sharpening from inside. I lifted the tent flap to see Dorothy sitting by the dim firelight, focused on sharpening the dagger I'd given her.
The blade gleamed with cold light in the fire's glow, but the girl's profile was strangely calm.
She was preparing for tomorrow's battle.
I stood at the tent entrance, uncertain whether to interrupt. Dorothy sensed the movement and looked up, surprise flashing in her eyes when she saw what I held.
"Tomorrow is your eighteenth birthday." I said somewhat awkwardly. "It's crude, but..."
I held out the "cake." Those crooked wildflowers looked especially sincere in the candlelight, as if trying hard to prove the maker's clumsy intent.
Dorothy took the "cake" in shock, her eyes instantly welling up. She stared at that rough bundle of food for a long time, then looked up at me, something shining in her eyes I'd never seen before.
She'd never imagined receiving a birthday gift in such desperate circumstances, much less one I'd made with my own hands.
The next second, she couldn't help but lean forward and press a gentle kiss to my cheek.
In that instant, my whole body went rigid, my heart pounding like it might burst through my chest. Her lips were soft and warm, carrying a purity I didn't deserve.
I even forgot to breathe, could only stand frozen, feeling that simple yet heavy gesture.
"Thank you, Kane." She said softly, her voice thick with tears.
Dorothy invited me to sit, and we shared that crude "cake." The combination of dried meat, wild berries and honey couldn't be called delicious—was even a bit strange—but the intention made it sweet. We sat shoulder to shoulder, listening to the night wind howling outside and the distant snores of warriors.
Dorothy unconsciously leaned against my shoulder, exhaustion gradually relaxing her body.
I felt the warmth radiating from my shoulder, my breathing becoming careful and shallow, afraid of disturbing her.
"Accept her, you fool." Blaze said quietly in my consciousness.
But I remained bound by shadows of the past. I was afraid my filthy hands would taint Dorothy's purity. I didn't deserve such tenderness, didn't deserve to be trusted like this.
In this gentle atmosphere, Dorothy suddenly asked softly, "Do you think my wolf will come?"
I was silent for a moment, then said with unprecedented gentleness, "Tomorrow it will."
I didn't know if this was true, but I hoped it was. I hoped she could awaken her wolf, hoped she could survive tomorrow's battle, hoped she could have a future better than mine.
Dorothy slowly fell asleep in that warmth and affection, her breathing becoming steady and even. I maintained my rigid posture, not daring to move, watching her peaceful sleeping face, feeling for the first time the true meaning of the word "protect."
Outside the sky gradually lightened, dawn's first rays filtering through gaps in the tent.
I knew it was time to leave.
I carefully laid Dorothy flat and covered her with the thin blanket. The girl frowned slightly in her sleep, instinctively grasping my finger. I froze, and only after a long while slowly withdrew my hand. I took one last deep look at Dorothy, that gaze so complex it seemed to want to carve every detail of her into my soul.
Then I turned and pushed through the tent flap, walking into the cold dawn.
Outside the camp, Steven had already assembled over a dozen of our most elite warriors. They wore crude leather armor, gripped various weapons, their eyes resolute.
I walked to the front of the formation and took the spear Steven handed me, casting one final glance back at the still-sleeping camp.
I knew I might never return from this.
But at least I'd given Dorothy a gentle birthday night.
At least in this desperate world, I'd done one thing right.