Page 106 of Iron Beneath the Snow

The sky was pale and brittle, light filtering through thin cloud in a way that made everything look sharper than it felt. The path narrowed soon after they passed the gates, forcing them into single file as the ground dropped away on one side into open air.

The cold cut cleanly into her lungs.

There was no comfort in it.

Only clarity.

Riven rode ahead for most of the ascent, not out of assertion, but because he moved through the terrain as if it required no conscious thought. His horse followed the line of the path with steady confidence, even where frost slicked the stone and wind pressed sideways along the cliff.

Eira let the rhythm of the ride take over, allowing movement to replace the layered tension that had followed her since the night of the celebration.

It was different here.

Less contained.

At one narrow turn, where the path curved along a sharp drop, a crosswind struck hard enough to unsettle one of the younger mounts. The animal shifted, hooves scraping against the stone, its rider tightening the reins in response.

Riven glanced back at once.

“Don’t hold him that tight,” he called, his tone calm, almost conversational despite the risk. “You’re fighting his balance. Let him place his feet.”

The younger wolf hesitated, then eased his grip.

The horse steadied almost immediately.

They moved on without further comment.

By the time they reached the ridge post, the wind had sharpened further, cutting along the exposed rock with a constant, low force. The structure itself was smaller than she had expected—a stone shelter carved partially into the cliff, a shallow fire pit protected by the rock face, and a narrow lookout that opened fully onto the valley below.

Two wolves rotated down from the post as they arrived, their movements stiff from cold.

“No movement,” one of them reported, stamping his boots lightly. “Tracks near the lower pass, but nothing recent.”

Riven dismounted without waiting for further instruction and began unloading supplies with efficient, practiced motions. Eira followed, lifting a crate from her saddle before one of the younger wolves stepped forward.

“I can take that,” he said, already reaching.

She adjusted her grip slightly, not pulling it away, but not yielding it either.

“So can I,” she said, her tone even enough to make the point without turning it into resistance.

He paused, then withdrew his hand.

No tension followed.

Inside the shelter, the wind dropped to a low hum against the stone. They built a contained fire—just enough for warmth, not enough to send visible smoke down into the valley.

The air carried the dry taste of ash and frost.

When the others settled into rotation, Eira stepped back outside.

From the ridge, the valley stretched wide and quiet beneath a wash of muted blues and greys. At this distance, it looked almost peaceful, its stillness disguising the movement that would exist closer to the ground.

Riven joined her after a moment, coming to stand at her side without intruding on her space, his presence steady rather than imposing.

“You haven’t come this far west before?” he said, more observation than question.

“No,” she replied. “There was never a reason to.”