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After the intense conversation, both Zedya and Lennart pulled back a little, enjoying the small bites of their meal until they were once again interrupted by a knock at the door and the return of their server, this time bearing a flight of artfully prepared fruits and small cups of ale and cider.

"Master Lennart," the servant said, offering a deep bow. "Of all the dishes you sampled in the previous flight, the chef would like to know which was your favorite?"

"Just me?" Lennart said, blinking in surprise.

"Perhaps you should ask Madame Zedya first," he said, feeling a touch uncomfortable with the attention.

Zedya had made the arrangements, and given the level of luxury and service here, he was certain that they understood which of them was more important, so why start with him?

"It’s fine, Lenny," Zedya said with a light, musical laugh.

"I asked them to serve things out of order for us tonight so you could pick a favorite meat dish.

The chef will prepare a full portion of that dish for you as a main.

I might be fine with single bites," she said with a smile that revealed a hint of her fangs. "But this isn’t an ideal menu for you. So choose what you like and I’ll keep you company during the next course. Then we can have desserts together."

"Oh," Lennart said with a hearty, belly-shaking laugh. "In that case, the pepper-crusted steak was perfect. But are you really fine just sitting there and watching me eat?"

"I’m fine spending time with my friend," Zedya said, reaching across the table to briefly hold his hand. "And I’ll sip on a full cup of something rich, full-bodied, and red," she added with a wink at the servant.

Once the servant departed, the two fell into a quiet, comfortable conversation as they worked their way from a dish of thin-sliced apples served with goat cheese and sweet syrup to a miniature plum tart shaped to resemble a plum blossom and several other delicate arrangements that blended sweet, tart autumn fruits with rich, savory herbs or sharp, funky cheeses.

By the time Lennart’s pepper-crusted steak arrived, they’d fallen into a more comfortable rhythm of conversation.

Sometimes they chatted about the food, picking favorites and reminiscing about childhoods long past when one flavor or another felt nostalgic.

At times, the conversation turned more serious as moments of nostalgia provoked worries about the days to come.

Though they had known each other for close to thirty years, during that entire time, they’d remained rigidly locked in the roles that defined their relationship. Some things, they came to know about each other in passing while others were heard only through rumors overheard by others.

"So what is it that you occupy your free time with?" Lennart asked, leaning back and resting a hand on a belly that felt very, very full after the flight of six decadent confections that followed his hearty portion of steak. "I’ve seen Lady Nyrielle’s paintings hanging a few places in the castle, and I’ve been told that Sir Thane writes poetry, but I’ve never heard a whisper of how you pass the idle time in the long years. "

"You’ll laugh," Zedya said, hiding her smile behind her cup of wine. "It’s nothing impressive like Thane or Marcell or any of the others."

"I still want to know," Lennart protested.

Digging in a pouch at his hip, he pulled out a half-carved wooden pipe.

The bowl of the pipe had been roughly shaped to resemble an oak leaf curling around an acorn, though the stem of the pipe was still very, very rough in form.

"This is what I keep busy with on the wagons during the day," he said, passing the pipe over to Zedya.

"I’m nowhere near as clever about wood carving as the folks from the Heartwood Clan," he said. "I can’t manage that kind of detail with just my claws, but there’s something soothing about needing to put all your focus on the knife in your hand so you don’t cut yourself or ruin the piece while the wagon is jostling about.

I can shut out the world for a little while when it’s not my turn to watch the horizon. "

"This is lovely," Zedya said as she carefully inspected the pipe before handing it back.

"You might have seen a few of my pieces. Every year, I collect a small tribute of wool from each village that herds sheep. I spend the year making baby blankets for them to give back the following year to any expecting mothers in the village. The way the Horned Clan is, there’s usually at least one expecting mother in the village every year," she said with a light laugh.

"How is it that I’ve never heard of you making blankets for children?" Lennart said, looking shocked that something could have gone unnoticed for so many years. "Someone would have said something to me by now, surely."

"Oh, no one knows that I’m the one doing the knitting," she said, looking wistfully at the last dregs of wine in her cup.

"I told them once, but then I found out that receiving a blanket knitted by one of Lady Nyrielle’s progeny was akin to receiving a family heirloom.

They hung them on walls and talked about passing them down to their descendants, but they never gave them to the poor little babes. "

"So after a few years, I told the villages that my duties had grown and I couldn’t knit the blankets myself anymore, but that I would still take the tribute and I would have someone else knit them for me," she explained. "Now, they’re precious, but not so precious that they go unused."

"That sounds... lonely," Lennart said. "No wonder you," he started to say only to cut himself short and get up from his seat instead. Crossing the small dining room in two quick strides, he knelt next to Zedya and wrapped her in the gentlest bear hug that he could manage. Her slender figure felt cool against his chest as he pulled her close, even though she’d fed the night before, it seemed like borrowed warmth never lasted long.

Almost unconsciously, Zedya shifted slightly in his embrace, pressing closer as though seeking the warmth that radiated from his body.

Even though his formal coat and her silk dress, the warmth held close by his soft fur made him feel like a living blanket taken fresh from the fireside to bundle her up against the cold.

"I’ll stay with you," he whispered as he tucked her head under his chin, enveloping her in a soft, fluffy embrace. His heart thundered in his chest, and he was certain that she could hear every beat. "As long as you want me to. I’ll be your friend who’s never afraid of you, and if I ever treat you like you’re too far above me to accept a gift from, then you go ahead and beat me for it until I come to my senses," he teased lightly. "Because I know you can."

"Thank you," Zedya said, closing her eyes and sinking deeper into Lennart’s warm embrace.

She pressed her ear against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and his slow, even breaths wash over her like music.

The heat from his body seemed to seep into her very bones, making her feel more alive than she had in countless years. "That’s all I wanted."