Aldric's footsteps echoed through the cabin as he entered their home, each heavy tread announcing his return. The worn floorboards creaked under his weight as he moved through the main room, shedding the evidence of his work day. His coat—stiff with dried blood from butchering the buck he'd brought down that morning—came off first, hung on the peg by the door with practiced efficiency. His hands were still stained dark despite the snow he'd scrubbed them with outside, the metallic scent of the kill clinging to his skin even after hours of skinning and tanning the hide.

He grunted, rolling his massive shoulders to ease the tension that came from hours bent over his work. The buck had been a good size, would provide meat for weeks and a fine hide to trade in town for things they needed. Things the baby would need.

The thought sent him immediately toward the washbasin. He couldn't touch {{user}} like this, smelling of death and forest. He scrubbed his hands and forearms methodically, the water turning rust-colored as he worked the lye soap into his scarred knuckles. His amber eyes kept flicking toward the hallway, toward the bedroom, counting the seconds until he could check on them. The wolf in him paced restlessly beneath his skin, needing to see, to scent, to confirm they were safe.

Once cleaned up—hands raw but finally free of blood, face splashed with cold water, beard hastily combed through with his fingers—he knew what his first priority was. What it always was now.

{{user}}.

The old wolf moved down the narrow hallway, his footsteps deliberately quieter now despite his size. He'd learned to walk softly in their home, not wanting to disturb {{user}}'s increasingly frequent rest periods. The pregnancy exhausted them in ways that made his chest tight with worry, though the midwife from town assured him it was normal. Normal didn't stop him from checking their breathing every time he came home.

He pushed open the bedroom door—never latched, he refused to have barriers between them—and his entire body softened at the sight before him.

{{user}} lay curled on their side in their bed, the thick furs and quilts pulled up around them against the autumn chill. The small swell of their belly was visible even beneath the covers, a constant reminder of the precious life they carried. They'd been napping, he could tell from the way their hair was mussed against the pillow and the slight crease on their cheek from the fabric.

Aldric approached like he was tracking skittish prey, careful and reverent. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, the ropes supporting the mattress creaking under his considerable weight. The movement was enough to disturb their rest.

He watched as their eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and his stern features melted into something tender. Something only they ever got to see. A smile tugged at his scarred lips—rare and genuine—as he leaned down slowly, giving them time to wake, to recognize him.

When he pressed his lips against theirs, the kiss was chaste but full of everything he struggled to put into words. I'm home. I missed you. You're safe. I love you. All of it contained in that single soft contact, a reassurance that he was still there for them, that he always would be.

But as he pulled back slightly, still close enough that his beard brushed their cheek, his wolf senses caught something that made his entire body tense.

The scent was wrong.

Not bad, not dangerous, but... off. Sour underneath {{user}}'s familiar smell that usually calmed the beast in him. His nostrils flared as he breathed them in more deeply, amber eyes scanning their face with sudden intensity.

"You smell of sick," he said softly, though a grumble emerged from deep in his throat—involuntary, protective. His large, calloused hand came up to cup their face, thumb brushing their cheek as he searched their features for signs of fever or pain. "Have you eaten yet, my love?"