The morning after Mora's gift, Dorn arrived at Theron's spot with a look of determination that Theron had learned to recognize. It meant Dorn had decided something, and resistance was futile.

  "Today," Dorn announced, dropping to the ground cross-legged, "we talk. Much talk. You learn."

  Theron looked up from his morning tea—the clay cup Mora had given him, filled with steaming water and a few crushed feverbark leaves. "I learn every day. You teach every day."

  Dorn waved this away. "Not enough. Today, real talk. Many words. You ready?"

  Theron laughed. "I'm ready. Teach me."

  ---

  Dorn was an enthusiastic teacher. He was not, by any measure, a good one.

  He pointed at everything in sight, named it once at normal speed, then looked at Theron expectantly. When Theron hesitated, Dorn repeated the word louder, as if volume would somehow make it clearer. When Theron still didn't get it, Dorn acted out the word with elaborate gestures that were sometimes helpful and sometimes deeply confusing.

  "Tree," Dorn said, pointing at a tree.

  "Tree," Theron repeated.

  "Good. Rock." Pointing at a rock.

  "Rock."

  "Good. Sky." Pointing up.

  "Sky."

  "Good. Bird." Pointing at a bird overhead.

  Theron looked up, saw the bird—small, brown, unremarkable—and repeated, "Bird."

  Dorn beamed. Then he pointed at the bird again and said, "Bird fly."

  Theron nodded. "Bird fly. Yes."

  Dorn pointed at himself. "Dorn walk." He walked a few steps, demonstrating. Then he pointed at Theron. "Theron sit."

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Theron sat. "Theron sit. Good."

  Dorn pointed at the bird again. "Bird fly." Then at himself. "Dorn walk." Then at Theron. "Theron sit." He made a thinking face, then pointed at the fire. "Fire hot."

  "Fire hot," Theron agreed.

  Dorn pointed at the stream. "Water cold." He dipped his hand in to demonstrate, then shook it off dramatically.

  "Water cold," Theron repeated.

  They went through dozens of combinations. Dorn was tireless, relentless, and occasionally ridiculous. When he ran out of obvious examples, he started making up sentences just to teach structure.

  "Dorn eat fish," he said, miming eating.

  "Theron eat berries," Theron responded, pointing at his supply.

  Dorn nodded approvingly. Then he pointed at a distant hunter. "Hunter go forest."

  Theron repeated. Then he pointed at Sora, who was approaching with her usual bundle of berries. "Sora come here."

  Dorn grinned. "Good! Theron talk good!"

  Sora arrived, caught the end of the conversation, and looked at Theron with surprise. "You talk now?"

  Theron spread his hands. "Little. Few words. Dorn teach."

  Sora shot Dorn a look that was remarkably skeptical for a twelve-year-old. "Dorn teach? Dorn talk fast. Dorn loud."

  Dorn pretended to be wounded. "Dorn teach good! Theron learn!"

  Sora ignored him completely, sat down beside Theron, and started unpacking her berries. She pointed at each one, named it, and waited for Theron to repeat. Her pronunciation was clearer than Dorn's, her pace slower, her explanations more patient.

  Theron looked at Dorn, who was watching this with an expression of mock outrage.

  "She teach better than me," Dorn complained.

  Theron laughed. "She teach different. You teach different. Both good."

  Dorn considered this, then shrugged. "Fine. We both teach. Theron learn double."

  ---

  They spent the morning that way—Dorn and Sora taking turns, sometimes competing, sometimes cooperating. By midday, Theron's head was spinning with new words, but he could feel them settling into place, forming patterns, building structure.

  He learned nouns: animals, plants, body parts, tools, natural features. He learned verbs: walk, run, sit, stand, eat, drink, sleep, wake, see, hear, speak, think. He learned simple adjectives: hot, cold, good, bad, big, small, fast, slow. He learned the basics of sentence structure: subject-verb-object, with modifiers before or after depending on emphasis.

  By afternoon, he could say things like:

  "Dorn teach Theron words good."

  "Sora bring berries morning."

  "Fire hot, water cold, Theron hungry."

  Dorn and Sora both applauded his first real sentence. Theron felt absurdly proud.

  ---

  While they rested, eating some of Sora's berries, Dorn told stories.

  Not lessons this time—real stories, told in his normal voice, at his normal speed. Theron understood maybe one word in five, but that was enough to follow the gist. Dorn acted out the important parts, changing his voice for different characters, making sound effects for animals and weather.

  There was a story about a hunt—a great beast, many hunters, a close call. There was a story about a flood, years ago, that swept away part of the camp. There was a story about the first Ash Tooth people, who came from the mountains and found this valley and decided to stay.

  Through it all, Sora listened too, sometimes adding details, sometimes correcting Dorn's exaggerations. Theron watched them both, this unlikely pair—the scarred hunter and the sharp-eyed girl—and felt something expand in his chest.

  This is a family, he thought. Not mine, not yet. But a family.

  When Dorn finished a particularly long tale about a spirit in the Honeywoods—Theron caught the word "Honeywoods" repeated several times, and "spirit" and "walk" and "disappear"—he looked at Theron expectantly.

  Theron spread his hands. "I understand... little. Some words. Not all."

  Dorn nodded, not disappointed. "More words, more understand. Someday you understand all."

  "Someday," Theron agreed.

  ---

  That evening, Theron sat by his fire and practiced.

  He went through all the new words, repeating them aloud, building sentences, testing himself. The fire crackled. The stars wheeled overhead. And Theron's voice, soft and steady, filled the night with the sounds of a language that was slowly becoming his.

  "Fire warm. Sky dark. Stars many. Dorn friend. Sora friend. Mora... Mora friend too, maybe."

  He thought of Mora's gift, the clay cup still in his hands. Thought of her face when she'd touched his arm and sensed something strange. Thought of the way she'd said "You stay" like it was already decided.

  "Theron stay," he said to the darkness. "Theron Ash Tooth... maybe. Someday."

  The fire crackled. No answer came. But for the first time, Theron didn't feel like he was talking to nothing.