Knotting His Rejected Breeder

By the time the sun began to disappear behind the hills, Destiny could no longer feel her feet.

The ground had changed hours ago from familiar dirt roads to narrow paths covered in roots, loose stones, and damp leaves. One boot rubbed raw against her heel until every step sent a sharp sting up her ankle. She stopped mentioning it because her father had not complained once, even though his breathing had grown heavier and his shoulders sagged with every mile.

Her mother was struggling too. Destiny noticed the way she pressed a hand against her side whenever she thought neither of them was watching. The gesture was small, careful, practiced. She had offered to carry the bag twice. Both times her mother refused with a tired shake of her head.

"You’re not made of stone," Destiny said when they finally stopped beside a fallen tree.

Her mother managed a thin smile. "Neither are you."

"I know."

"Then stop pretending you don’t hurt."

Destiny opened her mouth, but nothing useful came out. The truth was that complaining felt useless now. Pain was simply part of the road.

Her father stood several steps away, watching the trees instead of resting. He had barely spoken since they abandoned the wagon. Every few minutes his head turned toward the path behind them, listening with the kind of focus that made Destiny’s stomach tighten.

"We can’t keep walking like this," she said.

"We have to."

"Until when?"

He did not answer.

She pushed herself upright despite the ache in her legs. "You keep saying we have to move, but you still haven’t told me where we’re going."

For the first time since the farmhouse, something in his face softened. Not enough to look like relief. Just enough to look like a man who had run out of ways to delay the truth.

"Silvercrest."

The word landed harder than she expected. She had suspected it. Hearing it aloud made the choice real, heavy, unavoidable.

"Why?"

"Because there may be people there who can help us."

"Who?"

He looked away.

"Father."

"I don’t know if they will help."

"That isn’t what I asked."

He rubbed a hand over his face. In the fading light he looked older than he had that morning, as if the journey had taken years instead of hours. Dust marked the lines around his mouth. His eyes were tired in a way that rest would not fix.

"When we found you," he said slowly, "you weren’t alone."

Destiny’s breath caught.

He had already told her someone had been looking for her. This was different. This reached further back.

"What do you mean?"

"There was another person with you."

"Who?"

"A woman."

The word settled deep in her chest.

Rain. Trees. A crying baby. A desperate voice saying she was sorry.

The dreams rose so fast she had to steady herself against the fallen trunk. For years those fragments had felt like imagination. Now they felt like memory pushing through a locked door.

"Was she my mother?"

He did not answer immediately.

That silence was answer enough.

Her eyes burned.

"You know."

"I know some things."

"Then tell me."

Her mother stepped closer and touched Destiny’s arm. Her fingers were cold. "Your father is trying to keep you alive."

"I know that." Destiny’s voice cracked. "But I’m tired of being kept alive without knowing why someone wants me dead."

Neither of them spoke. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath with them.

"Was she my mother?"

Her father finally nodded.

Destiny looked down because she could not watch their faces. For twenty-two years the emptiness inside her had had no shape. She had never needed a perfect story. She had only wanted something real enough to hold. A name. A face. A reason. Now she had a confirmation and somehow it still was not enough.

"Where is she?"

"She was trying to get you somewhere safe."

"Where?"

"I don’t know."

"You don’t know?"

"We lost her."

Destiny’s head snapped up. "What does that mean?"

"It means we found you alone." His voice had gone quieter, as if speaking too loudly might break something fragile. "You were barely old enough to walk. Soaked through. Exhausted. Covered in mud. Your mother found you near the edge of the northern farms. There was no one with you."

The image formed whether Destiny wanted it or not. A small child in the wet grass. No arms around her. No voice calling her back.

"Then how do you know she was my mother?"

He hesitated.

"There was something with you. A cloth. Dark blue. Embroidered with a crest I didn’t recognize at the time."

Destiny’s pulse climbed. "What crest?"

"I can’t remember it clearly."

"You remembered it for twenty-two years, and now you can’t?"

"I remember enough to know it wasn’t from our village."

Her mother reached into the small bundle she carried and pulled out a strip of faded cloth. Carefully folded despite its age. A small embroidered shape sat near one edge, almost worn away by time and handling.

Destiny reached for it.

The moment her fingers touched the fabric, a strange warmth passed through her hand. Not heat from the sun. Not imagination. Something deeper, like recognition.

She pulled back.

"What?"

Her mother frowned. "Nothing."

Destiny stared at her own fingers. For one second she thought she had imagined it. Then the feeling faded, leaving only the cold evening air and the cloth still held out between them.

A branch snapped somewhere behind them.

All three froze.

Her father’s hand went to the knife at his belt. "Stay behind me."

They listened.

Nothing. Only wind moving through leaves. A bird shifting somewhere deeper in the trees.

After several long seconds he lowered his hand. "Keep moving."

They walked faster. This time nobody complained about the distance. Fear had a way of silencing smaller pains.

Darkness settled over the forest in slow layers. Destiny kept looking back, but there was nothing between the trees. No riders. No movement. Still, the feeling remained under her skin like a second pulse.

They were being watched.

After another hour her father led them off the main trail and down a slope toward a shallow stream. Water moved quietly over smooth stones.

"We rest here."

Her mother lowered herself onto a flat rock with a soft sound of relief. Destiny crouched beside the water and splashed her face. The cold bit into her skin and cleared some of the exhaustion from her head. In the dark surface of the stream she looked older than she had that morning. Not because of her face. Because she could no longer pretend her life had been simple.

A branch moved behind her.

Destiny spun around.

Nothing.

"Father?"

No answer.

Her heart lurched. She hurried back and found him standing at the edge of the trees, staring into the dark with his whole body tight.

"What is it?"

He lifted one finger.

Listen.

At first she heard nothing but the stream and her own breathing.

Then came the faint sound of footsteps.

Not close, but coming.

Her mother’s face drained of color. Her father grabbed Destiny’s wrist hard enough to steady her.

"Don’t speak."

The footsteps stopped.

A man’s voice carried through the trees.

"Destiny."

Her blood went cold.

She stared at her father. He looked as shocked as she felt. The name should not have been possible out here. Not from a stranger. Not in the dark.

The voice came again, calm and certain.

"Destiny, I know you’re there."

Her mother covered her mouth with both hands.

Nobody here should know her name.

Nobody.

Her father leaned closer, voice barely audible. "Do not answer."

Destiny nodded, though her throat felt locked.

The trees remained still.

Then the man spoke again. "I don’t want to hurt you."

Different from the urgent whisper at her window. This voice was measured. Controlled. Too controlled.

"I only want to take you somewhere safe."

Safe.

The word sounded wrong coming from a stranger who had followed them into the forest after dark.

Her father slowly reached for his knife.

The footsteps started again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Closer.

A shadow moved between the trees and her father stepped in front of her at once.

For several seconds neither side moved. Destiny could hear her own pulse in her ears. She could feel her mother’s fear like heat at her back.

Then the stranger said, quietly,

"Your mother didn’t leave you behind."

Destiny’s breath caught so hard it hurt.

Her father stiffened.

The stranger took one slow step forward.

"She was running."

That was all.

No long speech. No list of accusations. Just enough truth to crack something open inside her.

Her father moved at once. "Run."

Destiny froze.

"Now!"

Her mother grabbed her hand. The three of them turned hard toward the denser trees.

Behind them the stranger shouted her name.

Destiny ran.

Branches tore at her arms and snagged her hair. Her lungs burned. Her mother’s grip nearly slipped as they stumbled down the slope, stones shifting under their boots. Behind them came the sound of pursuit, close enough to make every breath feel borrowed, close enough that Destiny did not dare look back.

For the first time in her life, she understood that the past she had spent twenty-two years wondering about was no longer behind her.

It had finally found her.

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