Page 53 of Baby and the Beast

Casimir looked down at the baby in his arms. She'd fallen asleep, her tiny face peaceful, one hand still wrapped around his finger. Something tightened in his chest—a feeling he couldn't name and didn't want to examine.

"I packed what we'd need," Nash continued, his voice still quiet. "For the journey."

Casimir nodded. They'd spent the evening before discussing the route, planning each leg of the journey. The weather had given them a small window—the storm had passed, leaving clear skies that might hold for three days at most.

"We should leave after she's fed again," Casimir said. "Make the most of the daylight."

Nash nodded, but made no move to take Copper. Instead, he gestured to the book. "My mother used to read me stories like that. About clever foxes."

"My grandmother," Casimir said after a moment. "She gave me a copy of this book the year before she had a stroke and died. Grandad never recovered."

"You miss them." It wasn't a question.

Casimir looked away. "It was a long time ago."

"Time doesn't always make it better," Nash observed. "Just... different."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound Copper's soft breathing. Finally, Casimir cleared his throat.

"You should eat before we go. I made porridge."

Nash smiled. "You've thought of everything."

"Just practical," Casimir muttered, carefully shifting Copper to hand her back to Nash.

"Thank you," Nash said, taking his daughter. "Not just for this—for everything."

Casimir stood abruptly, placing the book of stories on the small table. "I'll finish packing the supplies."

He retreated to the kitchen area, busying himself with the practical tasks of preparation. Better to focus on what needed to be done than the strange warmth that had settled in his chest when Nash looked at him like that—like he was something special, something worth trusting.

He'd get them safely to this rescue center, and then... well, then he'd come back to his solitude. Where he belonged.

But as he packed dried food and extra blankets, he couldn't help glancing back at Nash and Copper, huddled together in the armchair. The sight made something in his chest ache. He'd been alone so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to care about someone else.

It was dangerous.

He knew it wouldn't last. Couldn't last. But for now, he would get them safely down the mountain.

"The route I'm planning will take us through the old logging trails," Casimir said, zipping the last pack closed. "They're mostly abandoned now, but the paths are still there under the snow. If we push, we can make it to Rayford's cabin by nightfall."

"Rayford?" Nash asked, shifting Copper to his shoulder.

"Old hunter. Passed away three summers ago. His cabin's still standing—basic, but it'll give us shelter for the night." Casimir checked his compass and tucked it into his pocket. "From there, we can reach the main road by midday the next day, if the weather holds."

"And if it doesn't?"

Casimir met Nash's eyes. "Then we adapt."

Nash nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer. He stood carefully, cradling Copper close to his chest. "I'll feed her one more time before we go."

While Nash fed Copper, Casimir made a final check of the cabin. He banked the fire, secured the shutters, and made sure everything was properly stored. He might not return for months—or at all, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He pushed the thought away. One step at a time. Get them to safety first.

When he returned to the main room, Nash was bundling Copper in layers of soft cloth.

"I've got a carrier," Casimir said, pulling a contraption from one of the storage bins. "Made it years ago for hauling supplies, but I think we can adapt it."

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