The evening fires burned steadily in the valley of the Painted Dogs, casting long orange light across the rough shelters of hide and wood. The noise of the camp had softened after the day's excitement. Warriors still spoke around the central fires, but the loud energy of the ransom exchange had faded into the calmer rhythm of evening. Some men were sharpening axes while others inspected the iron bars and arrowheads that had been brought from the road earlier that day.
Torren sat beside one of the smaller fires near the edge of the camp.
His mother sat next to him wrapped in a thick fur cloak. The wind moving down from the higher slopes carried the cold smell of stone and pine, but the fire kept the worst of the chill away. Torren had been watching her for a while now. Something about the way she moved had changed over the last few days. She seemed slower than usual, and tonight she had barely touched the bowl of stew that had been passed around the fire.
Torren tilted his head and studied her.
"You sick?" he asked.
His mother looked down at him and smiled faintly. The expression was warm, but he could see the tiredness in her eyes.
"Just tired," she said.
Torren frowned slightly. He wasn't convinced by the answer. Warriors who were tired moved a certain way after long hunts. People who were sick moved another way entirely. What he saw in his mother didn't quite match either of those things.
"You always tired now," he said.
She laughed quietly at that.
"That happens sometimes," she replied.
Torren didn't answer immediately. He watched her for another moment, and then he noticed something else. She rested one hand on her stomach, almost unconsciously, as if the gesture had become natural to her without her noticing.
Inside Torren's mind, the calm voice spoke.
Possible pregnancy.
Torren blinked.
He looked down at her stomach again and then back up at her face.
"You have baby?" he asked.
His mother looked genuinely surprised.
"Who told you that?" she asked.
Torren shrugged.
"You hold stomach."
She stared at him for a moment longer, and then a slow smile appeared on her face. It was the kind of smile people gave when they realized something they had not planned to say had already been discovered.
"You notice too much," she said quietly.
Torren waited.
For several seconds she said nothing. The fire crackled between them, sending small sparks upward into the darkening sky. Finally she leaned a little closer to him and lowered her voice.
"I think I might," she admitted.
Torren sat very still.
The sounds of the camp continued around them—warriors speaking, someone laughing loudly across the clearing, the dull ring of metal as one of the smith's helpers examined the iron bars near the shelter. But Torren barely noticed any of it.
He looked again at her stomach.
"Baby grow inside?" he asked.
She nodded gently.
"Yes."
Inside his mind, the voice spoke again.
Family expansion confirmed.
Torren asked silently:
How long?
Approximately nine months.
Torren frowned slightly as he processed the number.
Long time.
Correct.
His mother watched his expression change and seemed curious.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
Torren looked back at her.
"Baby become warrior?"
She laughed softly again, though this time the sound carried a bit more warmth.
"Not for a long time," she said. "First it will cry. Then it will crawl. Then it will run everywhere and make trouble."
Torren considered that.
Children already did that in the camp.
His mother reached out and brushed a strand of pale hair away from his forehead. The gesture was gentle, almost absentminded.
"You'll be a good older brother," she said.
Torren blinked.
"Brother?"
"Or sister," she corrected.
Torren took a moment to think about that possibility.
Inside his mind, the voice spoke calmly again.
Sibling presence alters family dynamics.
Torren answered silently.
More family.
Correct.
He looked again toward the larger fires where Harrag sat among the other warriors. His father's loud voice rose above the others occasionally as he spoke and laughed with them.
"Da know?" Torren asked.
His mother shook her head.
"Not yet."
Torren followed her gaze toward Harrag.
"You tell him."
She smiled.
"I will."
They sat quietly together for a few minutes. The sky above the valley had grown darker now, and the stars were beginning to appear between the tall peaks of the Mountains of the Moon.
Torren leaned back slightly against the rock behind him.
Inside his mind he spoke again.
When baby born… clan bigger.
Correct.
The idea made simple sense to him. More people meant more hunters, more warriors, and more strength for the clan.
After a while Harrag stood from the larger fire and began walking toward them. His large frame moved easily through the camp, and several warriors nodded to him as he passed. When he reached the smaller fire where Torren and his mother sat, he stopped and looked down at them.
"You two look serious," he said.
Torren's mother glanced at Torren briefly before speaking.
"I have something to tell you."
Harrag crouched beside the fire, resting his arms on his knees.
"What?"
She placed her hand gently over her stomach again.
Harrag stared at her for a moment as the meaning settled in.
Then his face broke into a wide grin.
"Another one?" he said.
She nodded.
Harrag laughed loudly, the sound rolling across the valley.
"Good!" he said.
He reached over and squeezed her shoulder warmly before looking at Torren.
"The clan grows stronger."
Torren watched both of them quietly.
Inside his mind, the calm voice spoke one more time.
Population increase strengthens long-term clan viability.
Torren nodded slightly to himself.
More family.
More warriors.
The fire crackled between them as the cold night settled over the mountains. None of them knew how important this quiet evening would one day seem when Torren was older and the clans of the Mountains of the Moon began to change.
But for now he was simply a boy sitting beside a small fire, listening to his parents speak about the new life that would soon join their clan.