Private Nothing to Prove Tonight

[Talia Larkin Swift]

The light had dropped lower by the time Dean started laying things out, the clearing washed in that soft, late-day gold that made Oralis Prime feel less like a training ground and more like a place people might actually stay for a while.

The Vigo rested nearby with its ramp down, quiet and inert, a solid presence at her back. Dean moved between the ship and the fire site with calm efficiency, setting things where they would be useful rather than perfect. A crate had been dragged into place for seating. A small cooking pan set within reach. Some packs were opened and sorted just enough to make sense of what they had without turning this into an inventory.

She built the fire ring slowly, choosing stones for stability over symmetry. Kindling followed, then thicker pieces stacked with care. She struck the igniter and waited, watching the flame catch and settle, feeding it until it burned clean and steady. Not rushed. Not ceremonial. Just right.

Cupcake prowled nearby, occasionally darting close to sniff at a pack or investigate the fire before retreating again, tail flicking as if she were supervising the whole operation. Dean glanced up once, a faint curve touching her mouth, then returned to her task.

She set the pan beside the fire, checked the heat with the back of her hand, then paused, straightening slightly as if reassessing the space. This wasn't something she was doing alone. It didn't need to be finished before someone arrived. The work was meant to be shared.

Dean reached back into the open ship and pulled out the last of the supplies, setting them down within easy reach, then stepped back and looked at the setup as a whole. Simple. Functional. Enough.

She brushed her hands together, then glanced toward the ship, voice calm, even, carrying easily through the clearing.

"Fire's ready," she said. Not an announcement. An invitation.
"Thought we could do the rest together."

She settled onto the crate she'd dragged over earlier, posture relaxed, eyes on the fire as it crackled and threw sparks upward into the darkening canopy. The air smelled of warm earth and smoke, and of something like a quiet promise.

Whatever the day had been, this part of it was different. And she waited, content to let it unfold at its own pace.

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

A soft creak of metal drew Dean's attention. Rynar was descending the Vigo's ramp, armor already stowed away inside, replaced by simple jeans and a white undershirt that caught the firelight. He moved easily, unhurried, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Without a word, he closed the distance and leaned down, brushing a quick, gentle kiss against Dean's cheek.
"This… this feels like when we first met," he murmured, voice low and warm.
Dean blinked, caught off guard, but the edges of her mouth lifted.

"I prefer this, being outside, fire and all, over sleeping in a ship," Rynar continued, glancing around at the clearing. "If I can choose, I'd always pick this."
He lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged near the fire. "As a kid… I'd often sleep outside just to watch the stars. Long enough for them to feel like old friends."

Cupcake padded over, tail flicking, and sniffed at his boot. Rynar chuckled and crouched, hand sliding over her head as she pressed against him with a soft purr.

"Seems like you approve," he said, scratching behind her ears.
Dean watched him, the firelight reflecting in her eyes, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. The quiet, the stars beginning to blink into existence above, the gentle warmth of the fire, it all felt like home.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean caught his sleeve before he could fully settle, fingers warm against his wrist, and leaned in to return the kiss he'd given her: a soft, lingering just long enough to make it clear she meant it. When she pulled back, her forehead brushed his, a quiet smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Then we're in agreement," she murmured, glancing up at the sky and back to him. "Stars beat bulkheads."

She eased down beside him and tipped her chin toward the low crate and neatly laid cloth near the fire: cut vegetables, wrapped protein, a small tin of spices she'd been careful with, and a kettle already warming at the edge of the flames. Practical. Thoughtful. Ready.

"I set us up," Dean said lightly, warmth threading her voice. "Nothing fancy. Just honest." Her eyes met his, amused and fond. "So, what's on the menu for dinner?"

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar's eyes flicked to the spread she'd laid out, then back to her, that familiar spark of amusement settling in as he took it all in. He leaned back on one hand, relaxed, comfortable in a way he rarely let himself be.

"Well," he said, thoughtful, then grinned, "I could try my luck and catch something small. Plenty of critters out there that won't miss a single one." His gaze slid briefly toward the darkening treeline, then down to Cupcake as she circled back toward him.

She chose that moment to bump her head against his knee, tail swaying.

"Or," he added, scratching under her chin, "I could let our very capable hunter here earn her keep." Cupcake purred louder, clearly pleased with the suggestion, even if she didn't move an inch yet.

Rynar glanced back at Dean, eyes bright with mischief. "That said…" He reached into one of the packs nearby and produced a ration pack, holding it up between two fingers like it was a dare. "Last time you surprised me with one of these and somehow made it edible."

He tilted it slightly. "So maybe we do it your way again. You surprise me. I'll take the challenge."
He set the ration down near the fire, then leaned closer, voice softer now. "Either way, I'm not hard to please. Especially out here."

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean's mouth curved with quiet approval as she followed his glance to Cupcake, then down to the ration pack, as if it had personally offended her.

She shifted closer to him, knees brushing, the fire's warmth settling into her bones as she reached out and rested a hand briefly at Cupcake's scruff. "Alright, then," she said calmly, but there was a note of fond authority in it. "You heard him."

Her fingers slid under Cupcake's chin, giving a small, deliberate scratch. "Go find us dinner," Dean added, eyes narrowing just a touch in mock seriousness. "Something with real meat. Big enough to last more than tonight."

Cupcake's ears perked instantly.

"And," Dean continued, leaning in just a fraction closer to the nexu, "do not eat it before you bring it back."

The nexu let out a low, eager chuff, tail flicking once before she turned and padded off toward the treeline with unmistakable purpose, already shifting into a hunting lope.

Dean watched her disappear, then exhaled softly and leaned back into Rynar's side, shoulder settling comfortably against his chest as if it had always belonged there. She tucked her hands around a warm mug, gaze on the fire.

"That should buy us a few extra days of rations," she said lightly. "Save them for when we actually need them."

Her eyes flicked up to him, amused, steady. "Besides," she added, tone softer now, "it feels right. Eating what the land gives us. Out here."

She adjusted just enough to get comfortable, letting the quiet settle in again. "Until then," Dean finished, nodding toward the ration pack by the fire, "we can plan how you're going to pretend you helped cook."

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar's hand moved almost instinctively, looping around Dean's shoulders and gently pulling her closer. She didn't resist; if anything, she leaned slightly into the motion, settling against him while still keeping enough room to curl comfortably against the fire. His smile was soft, easy, and just a little teasing as he let the warmth between them stretch out.

"Don't get too comfortable," he murmured, tone light, "Cupcake might bring back half an animal." He laughed quietly at the thought, shaking his head. "Though… it's been ages since I got to properly butcher something she actually caught."

He glanced down toward the treeline, a nostalgic softness threading through his expression. "Reminds me of when she was just a cub. Tiny, fierce little thing, and I was just learning how to care for her. Good memories." His hand gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze, the firelight flickering across both of them.

"Guess tonight," he added, voice low and amused, "we might get to relive a little of that."
Dean tilted her head slightly, letting the words sink in, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. The moment stretched comfortably between them, filled with the scent of fire, the forest, and the faint promise of adventure, and perhaps a little chaos, still to come.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean's breath warmed as she laughed softly, the sound low and easy, and she tipped her head back just enough to look at him through the firelight.

"Let her bring back whatever she can," she said, calm and practical, like the decision had already been made. "If it's half an animal, then it's half an animal. We'll manage."

She shifted slightly closer, shoulder settling more firmly into his chest, her tone thoughtful rather than joking now. "I want to learn how to butcher it too," she added. "Properly. Not just enough to get by." A small pause, then a faint, knowing curve of her mouth. "You never know when that kind of knowledge will matter."

Her gaze followed his toward the treeline for a moment, imagining Cupcake moving through the brush with quiet purpose. "Besides," Dean continued softly, "I've learned the hard way that the things you think you'll never need are usually the ones you end up relying on most."

She rested her head briefly against him, comfortable, grounded. "And if we're doing this," she said, meaning more than just dinner, "I'd rather know how to stand on my own feet in it."

The fire crackled, steady and warm, as the night settled in around them and somewhere beyond the trees, Cupcake hunted with intent.

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar's lips curved into a soft, easy smile as he shifted slightly, adjusting so Dean rested comfortably against him. His hand brushed along her arm in a reassuring, absent-minded gesture.

"Gladly," he said, voice warm and steady. "I'll teach you. The basics, first. How to dress a catch, how to make sure it's useful, and how to respect what you take from the land."

He glanced toward the treeline, then back at her, his eyes flicking over the firelight that danced across her features. "Different animals have different cuts, different ways to handle them… but no matter what, I can show you the very fundamentals. Enough so that you could do it yourself if you needed to."

There was a faint, almost nostalgic tilt to his expression as he added, "Cupcake made it easy when she was little, too. Watching her, learning with her… it's part of what made me understand it properly. I think you'll pick it up faster than I did."

His arm tightened slightly around her shoulders, protective but not confining, letting the warmth of the fire and the night settle around them. "We'll take it slow. Step by step. And if you want, I'll even let you call the shots once you're ready."


The crackle of the flames filled the silence that followed, steady and grounding, while somewhere beyond the trees Cupcake hunted with unwavering purpose, already proving herself to be a capable partner in their little outdoor ritual.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean shifted slightly against him, adjusting just enough to look up at his face, her brow lifting with quiet curiosity. The firelight caught in her eyes, softening their usual sharp focus.

"Faster than you did?" she echoed lightly. "That's a bold claim."

There was no real challenge in it, just mild surprise and interest. One hand rested loosely against his side as she considered his words.

"Why?" she asked, genuinely. "What makes you think I'd pick it up quicker than you did?"

Her tone wasn't doubtful. If anything, it carried a faint trace of self-awareness, as if she wasn't used to being seen that way outside of missions and training.

"I've learned a lot of things," Dean added after a moment, quietly. "But most of them came with manuals, instructors, and very clear rules." A small, almost wry smile touched her lips. "This feels… different."

She glanced once more toward the treeline, listening for any sign of Cupcake, then back to him.

"So," she finished softly, "what is it you see that I'm missing?"

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar studied her for a moment, firelight tracing the line of her cheek as if he were trying to decide whether she was testing him or genuinely asking. His thumb shifted absently where his arm rested around her shoulders.

He gave a small huff of a laugh.
"Common sense," he said first. "You've got more of it than I did at your age. I learned most of this by doing things the hard way."
His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful now, trying to read her expression.
"And you actually listen. That helps."

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small flask, rolling it once between his fingers before taking a short sip. Then, with a crooked half-smile, he nudged it toward her.


"Plus," he added, half-joking, "you're missing a ring on your finger. That's… something I might want to fix."
The joke hung there for a beat, and Dean's eyebrows lifted in faint surprise, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

"But honestly?" His voice softened. "I don't know what you think you're missing. If that's what you were getting at."
He paused mid-sentence, eyes flicking briefly down to her hand resting against his side.

"…Hey," he said instead, leaning just a touch closer, curiosity softening the edges of his tone. "What kind of knives do you carry?"
"Balance, grip, edge... stuff like that matters more than most people think. Especially if you're learning to dress a catch."

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean was quiet for a moment, letting his words settle, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them. She took the flask when he offered it, only long enough to take a small, cautious sip before handing it back, her expression thoughtful rather than distracted.

"The kind the Diarchy issues," she answered first, practical as ever. "Balanced. Durable. Designed for stabbing or slicing first, utility second." A faint crease formed between her brows. "Good for combat. Not ideal for dressing anything that used to breathe."

Her gaze lifted back to his, steady.

"And if that was you testing the waters about marriage," she continued quietly, not sharp, not defensive, just honest, "are you sure about that?" There was no fear in her voice, only realism. "I'm not human. Many people still care about that. And I'm not Mandalorian either. I don't fit neatly into anyone's traditions."

She shifted slightly against him, one hand absently tracing a small line along his side as she spoke.

"I don't want you walking into something that turns into a fight with half the galaxy on principle alone," she added softly.

Then, after a beat, her tone warmed just a little.

"Do you still have the knife I gave you?" she asked, eyes searching his face now. "The one from back then."

A small, almost shy smile touched her lips.

"I figured if you kept that," she finished, "it probably says more than any ring ever could."

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar's eyes softened as he looked down at her, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"I've kept that knife with me everywhere," he said quietly, brushing his thumb over the handle where it had worn slightly with time. "I even slipped it into my armor kit, so it's always been close. It's… been a reminder."

He shifted just enough to look at her more fully, warmth in his gaze. "Is the blaster you gave me still with you? From the first time we met?"
His smile deepened, amused and gentle all at once. "I think keeping something like that… it says more than any ring ever could."

Rynar's hand tightened slightly around her shoulder. "And… yeah," he added, voice steady now, "I'm sure about marriage. If we go that way, you'd be Mandalorian by marriage. But…" He gave a small, playful shrug, eyes twinkling. "You don't have to carry the title if you don't want. Mandalorians aren't all human, that's for damn sure. And neither are the rules about what makes someone one of us."

He leaned a fraction closer, lowering his voice, soft enough that only she could hear. "I don't care about titles. I care about you."
The fire crackled between them, warm and steady, while beyond the treeline, the faint rustle of Cupcake moving through the brush reminded them both that some things, like loyalty, trust, and the quiet moments, were universal.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean's fingers brushed the blaster at her hip, the metal familiar beneath her palm. "It is," she murmured, lifting her eyes to meet his. "I put it where the knife I gave you came from." A small breath escaped her: half laugh, half something softer. "Guess that makes us even."

She shifted, leaning just slightly into the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. "So… does this mean we're married?" The words came out lighter than she expected, but the question underneath was real. "Or is there some ceremony? A vow? A…helmet tap?" Her mouth twitched, trying for humor, but her eyes stayed searching.

"How does someone even become Mandalorian?" she asked, quieter now. "Because I don't think they're going to welcome me. Not after how Korda looked at me." Her jaw tightened, not in anger but in that old instinct to brace. "I can't be who I'm not. And I can't erase where I came from."

She looked back at him fully then, steady and unflinching despite the uncertainty in her voice. "If I'm going to stand with you…it has to be as me."

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar listened without interrupting, his expression quiet but intent. When she finished, he drew her a little closer, his arm firm around her shoulders, not possessive, just anchoring.
"The ME would accept you," he said simply. No hesitation in it. "You'd be under my banner of protection. And trust me… they've taken in worse."

His jaw tightened slightly as he added, "Korda wiped his entire clan off the map. Left him the sole survivor of the Veydran clan. And he's still Mandalorian. Blood isn't everything. Loyalty is."
He tipped his forehead gently against hers for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at her.
"And no. You don't erase where you came from. That's not how this works."

His thumb traced a slow line along her shoulder.
"If you stand with me, it's as you."
He exhaled softly, then gave a faint, crooked smile.
"As for marriage…"
He glanced toward the fire, gathering his thoughts.


"It's usually simple. Private. No big spectacle unless the clans want one. You exchange vows, about unity, about standing together whether you're side by side or light-years apart. About raising the next generation strong."
His eyes returned to hers.
"It's legally binding, but the important part is the promise. Sometimes it's done in person. Sometimes over a comlink if duty won't wait."
A small huff of amusement escaped him.

"Some couples break something together. A cup, a plate, whatever's handy. Means the bond doesn't go back the way it was before."
He grew quieter.
"Marriage matters to us because it strengthens clans. Some unions are political. Some are practical. A lot are just… because two people choose each other."

He squeezed her gently.
"Same-sex, inter-clan, outsiders, it doesn't matter. Mandalorians aren't all human, and they don't all come from Mandalore. What matters is commitment."
He studied her face, serious now.

"And no, we're not married just because we talked about it," he said softly. "That takes vows. But I am sure about you."
Then, with a small smile:
"If we ever do it, you don't have to take the title unless you want it. You'd be Mandalorian by marriage, sure, but you don't have to wear it like armor."

He leaned in slightly, voice low and steady.
"I don't need you to become something else."
"I just need you to stay Dean."

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean was quiet for a long moment after he finished, her gaze drifting not to the fire, not to the trees, but to the place where his hand rested on her shoulder, as if she were grounding herself in the simple fact that he was there.

When she spoke, her voice was softer than before.

"I know," she said quietly. "You wouldn't say any of that if you weren't sure."

She shifted just enough to turn more fully toward him, one knee brushing his, her posture open in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. One hand came up to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath it.

"I don't want to be reshaped to fit someone else's idea of belonging," she admitted. "I spent too long learning how to be what the Diarchy needed me to be." Her thumb moved in a small, absent circle through the fabric of his shirt. "So… hearing you say I wouldn't have to erase anything… that matters more than you probably realize."

A faint, almost self-conscious smile touched her lips.

"And I don't need banners or ceremonies," Dean added. "I don't need anyone else to approve of us." Her eyes lifted to meet his. "I just need to know that when things get complicated, when the galaxy decides to be cruel again, you're still choosing me."

She leaned in then, pressing her forehead gently to his for a moment, breathing him in.

"I'm choosing you, too," she said softly.

Before either of them could say more, the forest shifted.

Somewhere beyond the ring of firelight, there was a sudden burst of movement, a sharp rustle of leaves, the snap of underbrush, followed by a deep, startled cry that cut off abruptly. Wings or branches crashed. Something heavy hit the ground.

Silence followed.

Then, a moment later, Cupcake's low, triumphant chuff echoed through the trees.

Dean blinked, then slowly turned her head toward the sound.

"…Well," she murmured.

A small, genuine laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it, and she rested her head lightly against his shoulder.

"Looks like dinner's settled," she added warmly. "And… I guess our very capable hunter took that part personally."

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar's laughter came easily, low and happy, carrying through the clearing. He watched as Cupcake emerged from the treeline, dragging a surprisingly large animal behind her, tail flicking triumphantly.

"Not bad at all," he said, his voice full of warmth as he crouched slightly to meet her eyes. "Good job, Cupcake. That's exactly the kind of hunter I knew you were." He ruffled the fur along her head, earning a contented purr in response.

Rynar stood, brushing off his jeans, and turned back to Dean with a wide, satisfied grin. "Looks like our hunter earned her keep." He paused, eyes glinting in the firelight, then added with a small chuckle, "I should probably get my knife set… this looks like it's going to need a proper dressing."

His hand came to rest on her shoulder again, fingers brushing lightly as he gave her a teasing look. "Unless, of course, you want to show me how quickly you can learn."


The fire crackled between them, warm and steady, the quiet of the night now punctuated with the occasional rustle as Cupcake proudly inspected her prize, already shifting into her next patrol.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean watched Cupcake for a moment longer, her expression caught somewhere between impressed and fond, before her attention returned to Rynar. The firelight reflected softly in her eyes as she took in his grin, the easy pride in his voice, the way he always made even practical things feel like shared moments.

At his teasing, one eyebrow lifted just slightly.

"I think," she said dryly, though there was warmth threaded through it, "I should probably take lessons and take notes first."

She reached out and lightly tapped his chest with two fingers, not pushing him away, just punctuating the thought.

"I'd rather learn it properly than improvise and accidentally ruin half our dinner," she added, a faint smile curving her lips. "You've had a lot more practice than I have. I'm not too proud to admit that."

Her hand lingered there for a second before dropping back to her side.

"But," Dean continued, glancing toward Cupcake and her impressive catch, "I'm paying attention. So don't skip steps just because you've done this a hundred times."

She shifted closer to him again, her shoulder brushing his.

"And when I mess it up," she added quietly, with a hint of humor, "you're required to pretend it was part of the lesson."

Her gaze lifted to meet his, steady and affectionate.

"Deal, teacher?"

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar's grin widened at her words, amusement and pride mixing freely in his expression. "Deal," he said, voice low and warm, eyes flicking to hers. "Lesson one: respect your tools, respect your prey, and respect the land."

He rose and moved to the side of the fire, reaching into the pack at his feet. With deliberate care, he pulled out his dressing knife kit, unfastening the leather strap that kept it rolled tight. Each blade gleamed faintly in the firelight, neatly arranged, sharp and ready. Alongside it, he set down a few shallow containers for the meat, clean and practical, lined up to keep the work organized.

"Step one," he said, kneeling beside Cupcake's prize, "is always inspection. Know what you've caught, and plan how to break it down before you touch it." He gestured to the animal, already settled on the ground. "Check for damage, note any imperfections, and make sure your workspace is clear."

He paused, letting her take it in, then picked up the first knife, its balance familiar in his hand. With smooth, controlled movements, he began to gut the animal, explaining each cut as he worked.


"Start with the abdominal cavity," he said, his tone even but precise, "and move carefully, damage here can ruin the meat and the organs if you want them. Keep your cuts shallow at first, and always pull the skin taut. See?" His fingers guided the incision, showing her the right angle, the pressure, the rhythm. "Control is everything. You're not just cutting meat, you're preserving what you caught, honoring it."

Dean leaned close, absorbing each movement, her hand occasionally brushing against his as she mimicked the motions with invisible precision. Rynar noted it, smiling faintly, his voice calm and encouraging.

Once the gutting was complete, he lifted the animal's hide with care, showing her how to separate it from the carcass without tearing the meat. "Skinning is delicate work," he explained. "Rough hands, sloppy cuts, or rushing will ruin the hide, which is just as important as the meat sometimes. Keep your strokes smooth, keep the blade close to the body, and always work away from yourself."


Then he paused, setting the blade down for a moment and looking at her. "Your turn. I'll start you on the flank, feel the tension in the hide, follow the grain, and remember: slow and steady. I'll guide your hand if you need it, but you need to feel it yourself."

He handed her the smaller of his knives, its edge gleaming, and kneeled beside her, steady and patient. "Every step matters," he added, almost in a whisper, "because you're taking life and turning it into sustenance. Respect it, and it'll respect you back."

Dean's fingers tightened lightly around the handle, her brow furrowing in concentration. Rynar's eyes never left hers, voice calm and warm as he guided her, letting her try the movements, correcting gently when her angle was off, praising when her pressure was right. The fire crackled steadily beside them, the warmth blending with the quiet intimacy of shared focus.


Cupcake sat nearby, tail flicking, watching approvingly as the lesson unfolded, part instruction, part ritual, part bonding, all under the stars and the soft golden glow of the fire.

Talia Larkin Swift

 

[Talia Larkin Swift]

Dean accepted the knife with careful hands, feeling its balance settle into her palm. For a moment, she simply held it there, testing the weight, the grip, the way it responded to the smallest shift of her fingers. It was different from the blades she'd trained with. Less aggressive. More honest. Made for precision instead of speed.

Her gaze followed his instructions closely as she positioned herself beside him, knees in the grass, posture steady and intent.

"Alright," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Slow. Controlled. Respect the line."

She placed the edge where he had indicated, hesitated just long enough to confirm the angle, then drew the blade carefully along the hide. The movement wasn't tentative, nor was it rushed. Measured. Deliberate. Her wrist adjusted instinctively as she felt the resistance shift, pressure easing and tightening in response.

After a few strokes, the cut was clean.

Dean paused, checking her work, then continued, following the natural grain the way he had shown her. When the hide resisted, she shifted her stance instead of forcing it, pulling the skin taut with her free hand just as he'd demonstrated.

"I see what you meant," she said quietly, brow furrowed in focus. "If you fight it, it fights back. If you follow it…it opens." Her voice held a trace of surprise, not at the concept, but at how quickly it made sense.

She worked for another moment, then glanced up at him, searching his expression without fully breaking concentration. "Like close-quarters work," she added softly. "You don't overpower. You redirect." There was no pride in the statement. Just understanding.

When she finished the section he'd given her, she eased the blade away and inspected the result. Clean. Careful. No wasted cuts.

A faint, almost shy smile touched her mouth. "…Was that acceptable?" she asked, quietly, still holding the knife with respect rather than ownership.

Then, with the smallest hint of dry humor: "Because if this were a Diarchy assessment, I'd be waiting for the part where someone tells me everything I did wrong." She shifted slightly closer to him, ready for correction, for the next step, fully present in the lesson. And learning far faster than she'd expected.

Rynar Solde

 

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar watched her work in quiet focus, his expression unreadable at first, but when she finished and looked up at him, that faint, almost shy smile on her face, his own softened immediately.

He tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Well," he started, adopting an exaggeratedly serious tone, "first mistake was breathing."
Dean blinked.
Then he broke, a low laugh slipping out as he shook his head.
"I'm kidding."


He reached out and gently adjusted her wrist by barely a fraction of an inch. "That angle right there, just a touch lower next time. And you can relax your grip a little. Let the blade do the work."

His eyes met hers again, warm and approving.
"But honestly? Other than very, very minor details…"
He nodded once.

"You did good."
Not polite good. Not encouraging good.
Real good.

He shifted back to the carcass and began working on another section, movements smooth and practiced. As he freed one of the larger bones, he lifted it and tossed it gently toward Cupcake.
She caught it with an excited chuff and immediately settled a few steps away, tail swishing as she claimed her prize.

Rynar smiled at her, then turned back to Dean.
"Reward for a job well done," he said lightly.

He gestured toward the exposed muscle groups as he continued breaking things down.
"Alright, next lesson. Cuts."

He traced a line with the flat of the blade.
"This here is your shoulder. Tougher meat. Good for slow cooking, stews, roasting, anything that gives it time to soften."

Then lower.
"Backstrap along the spine. that's your prime cut. Tender. Quick sear over the fire. Don't waste it."

He separated another section carefully.
"Flank and ribs, medium toughness. Slice thin, cook hot. If you treat it right, it'll surprise you."
He glanced up at her while working.


"Every animal's a little different, but the principles stay the same. You look for natural seams between muscles. You don't force it apart, you follow what's already there."
He paused, meeting her eyes again.
"Same rule as before."
He smiled faintly.

"If you fight it, it fights back."
He finished another clean separation and set the meat into one of the containers, keeping things neat and organized.
Then he nudged one slightly toward her.
"Your turn again," he said gently. "Pick a line. Trust yourself."

His voice dropped just a touch.
"And for what it's worth? You're learning faster than I did."
The fire crackled beside them, Cupcake gnawed happily on her bone, and under the open sky, Dean wasn't being evaluated or judged.
She was just learning. supported, respected, and exactly where she belonged.

Talia Larkin Swift