Years later, everything hurts.

You don’t remember when the ache started, but now it’s constant—bones cracking, joints stiff like the ice that still clings to the edges of the world. You used to be strong, fast. You used to hunt without hesitation. Now, you can barely grip a spear, and the hunger gnaws deeper than it used to.

And yet, he’s still here. The little screeching bundle of fur, now a full-grown man. A beast in his own right. Strong. Fierce. He grunts as he hauls a large boar over his shoulder, the fresh blood dripping onto the snow. His eyes are always sharp, scanning, looking for threats, because they never stop coming.

You watch him, sitting on the floor of the cave. His shoulders are broad, muscles tight beneath the fur he drapes over his frame. Bruises cover his skin, marks from the fight he’d just had. Blood still stains his face, his hands.

You move over to him slowly, joints stiff, but you can still manage. Your hands are rough as you tend to the wounds, wiping away dirt, pressing cloth against his black eye.

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice gravelly, low. He’s always worried about you. Always worried about your failing body.

You don’t know if you can keep going, but he’s young. He’s strong. He’ll carry you. He’ll carry the both of you until you can’t move anymore.

But, god, his face… the worry in his eyes. He looks like the baby you found all those years ago. The baby you never asked for but ended up needing more than anything. More than you ever realized.