“A part of, outside of, and moving in between . . .” Ora cocked their head at me. “I think in Olmdere you’d say ‘merem.’”
I tossed the word around in my head. In Olmdere, humans had words for man and woman, words for those who were both and those who were neither, and then there was merem. It meant “with the river.” I loved that. With the river—flowing, carving its own path. That river was taking me further away from all the things I was told I should be. It was the language of my people, and yet, not my word. Wolves spoke in only black and white, but I was now filled with every color.
“I like merem. I’m still just me, just Calla, but . . .” I shook my head.
The confession I was saving for Grae came spilling out to Ora instead, but they seemed like the right person to tell, a safe person, one who would understand me without me having the words myself. I thanked the Moon that I met Ora, that they opened me up to the possibility that I could exist beyond what I was forced to be. I took a shuddering breath. Maybe it would be easier to say a second time to Grae now that I’d said it aloud once. “Maybe one day I won’t have to contort myself to make sense anymore.”
“Maybe you’ll be the one to change that for yourself,” Ora said. “And for others, too.”
“Maybe,” I whispered.
Maybe one day Wolves would also use these words for people who flowed between man and woman, for people who existed outside either, and for people who were all of them at once. It wasn’t the Wolf way and I’d never questioned choosing something for myself before that wasn’t solely for the good of the pack. Wolves clung to tradition and, for some reason, I’d thought those traditions would keep us safe. Yet as soon as I stepped outside of that world, I realized how hollow it all was. It wasn’t for safety. It was for power.
And not my power.
“I’m glad you told me.” Ora nudged my shoulder with their own. “It feels good to claim who you are with two hands, doesn’t it?”
Another tear slid down my cheek. “Yes.”
Sadie stumbled in the back doorway, still sharpening a knife. “It’s colder than an ostekke’s co—” She looked up and spotted my tears, her brows furrowing in confusion.
“Stuck ’em with a pin,” Ora said, covering for me as they gathered the fabric from across the table. And I noted how easily they danced around the word “her” when addressing me, giving me the space and freedom to figure that part out still. “Sorry songbird,” they added with a wink.
I swiped at my tears with my sleeve, the way Ora addressed me making them fall heavier.
“It’s been a long day,” I mumbled. “I think I’m still hungover.”
“Now that I understand,” Sadie said, collapsing into one of the couches.
The words I was afraid to whisper even into my own mind hung in the air now.
Ora picked up their sewing again, sitting beside me smiling to themself. Such a small quiet moment, and yet everything felt like it was tearing apart and being put back together again. All the gray was now the brightest color, running faster than my Wolf through my mind. The peace I felt between the warring parts of myself just because they saw me. All of me. And they understood.
And with one simple word, merem, Ora mended a broken part of me, too.
I tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. I’d listened to Sadie and Navin stumbling back at a late hour from their date, the happy hushed voices telling me they’d had a good time. Finally, I relented. I dragged back the curtain to my bunk and climbed out, knowing where I was going before my feet even touched the floor.
At the far end of the wagon, I climbed the notched footholds in the cabinetry and peeked at the netting that hung close to the canvas ceiling. A stretch of translucent fabric filled a hole cut in the roof in a makeshift skylight. The netting bowed in the center, holding Grae.
He stared straight up at the roof inches above him. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” I whispered, crawling onto the taut netting. My body dipped down toward Grae’s, our sides pressing together. “Is this where you’re sleeping?”
“I figured it would be better than the couches,” he murmured. “Night owls and early risers alike would want to use that space.”
“You could come bunk with me,” I said, and he turned his head to look at me.
His expression was soft, sleep taming his normally serious features. He nodded but didn’t reply, looking back at the starry sky through the window.