Chapter 262 - 263: He smiled. He smiled! That means he wanted it?!
Isabella stomped into her hut, her lips pressed so tight together it looked like even her teeth were angry. The rough hide-curtain flapped shut behind her with a flump, and she barely spared it a glance as she stormed inside.
Still cradled in her arms, Glimora gave a soft snore, completely undisturbed by the fiery emotions radiating off her mistress. Isabella gently lowered the small beast onto the thick moss pile she had painstakingly arranged in the coziest corner of the hut. She even took a moment to adjust Glimora’s little leaf-blanket, tucking it under one of her limbs.
"There," Isabella muttered, brushing Glimora’s forehead with the back of her knuckle. "Sleep while I go destroy my back for the sake of soap."
With a deep, overly dramatic sigh, she stood up and took one long look around her hut.
It was small but sturdy. Made of layered bark, dried reeds, woven vines, and roofed with overlapping fur hides. Pockets of clay pots lined one wall, herbs hung upside-down to dry, and a few tools Cyrus had helped her carve out of bone sat abandoned in a wooden tray.
And yet.
And yet.
Here she was, clearly frustrated. Arms crossed. Jaw clenched.
She could’ve just gone to get Luca—he was big, strong, loyal, always willing to help.
But no. Absolutely not.
Because Isabella was an independent woman. An unmated, unguided, emotionally stable, sane, self-sufficient, goddess-level, highly competent genius.
She absolutely, definitely, positively did not need Cyrus or his stupid helpful eyes or his soft voice or his warm hands that knew exactly how to lift things without making it look like the world was ending.