CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The rustle of leaves and the c***k of twigs underfoot punctuate mine and Torin’s slow trek back to camp. The mountain air is crisp against my skin, carrying the scent of pine and the distant hint of smoke from the campfire that beckons us closer with every step. My heart races in time with my footfalls — partly from the exertion of the return journey, partly from the anxious energy that grips me as I think of the kiss Torin and I just shared.
"Almost there," I murmur to myself, or perhaps to the wind.
"Can't believe how cold it gets when the sun dips behind the peaks," Torin murmurs beside me, his presence a comforting solidity in the encroaching dusk. His brown hair has a few rogue twigs caught in it, testament to our passage through the dense underbrush.
"Spring i
