Page 68 of Gunnar
Of course he can.
We keep moving.
The trail dips, and a fallen tree lies across it, its bark rimed with frost.
Gunnar steps over easily, then turns back toward me.
“Come here.”
He reaches for my hand. His other arm goes around my waist, and before I know what’s happening, he lifts me over the trunk and sets me down on the other side. My boots hit the ground with a soft crunch.
We walk a few more steps before I realize that he’s still holding one of my hands.
And I don’t want him to let it go.
The trail ahead grows brighter. The trees thin, and suddenly we step out into a wide clearing.
The sky opens above us—vast and black, scattered with stars.
“Look at that,” I say.
“I wanted you to see it,” he says. “Away from the lights.”
“You don’t get skies like this in cities,” I agree with a shiver.
His brows draw together. “Cold?”
“No, just being confronted with my own tininess.”
“You are tiny.”
I laugh. “Thanks.”
“You’re standing on a rock flying through space,” he says. “Everything on it is tiny.”
I consider that.
“There are eight billion people on Earth,” I say. “How many shifters?”
He shrugs. “It’s not like we keep records.”
When I drop my gaze, he’s watching me instead of the sky. “Could a bear’s mate be anywhere in the world?”
“I guess.”
I try to imagine the odds of that.
“And if a bear never finds his mate?”
He’s silent for a long time. “We spend our lives alone,” he says at last. “Some find roles within the clan though.”
His jaw tightens. “Others… lose their minds.”
“Lose their minds?”
He nods. “They go feral. Dangerous.”
“And then?”
