Page 209 of Salt Between the Wolves

For several moments, nobody spoke before Kael finally broke the silence.

"The southern road remains open."

It was neither good news nor bad news, but rather the kind of report people gave when they were desperately searching for something positive.

"The merchants are still moving."

After a brief pause, he added, "Fewer than before."

There it was—the real report.

Another wolf spoke next.

"The Black Ridge council has postponed all military discussions indefinitely."

That came as no surprise anymore.

"The northern villages are requesting additional patrols."

After another pause, he continued, "And asking whether Ironfang intends to escalate."

Soren almost laughed at the word.

Escalate, as though Ironfang had been the one setting traps in ravines and as though eight dead wolves had somehow been an act of aggression.

The thought remained exactly that, and for once he kept it to himself.

The discussion continued as report followed report, revealing one uncertain alliance, another that was still waiting, a trade route under pressure, and rumors spreading across the region.

Each piece seemed manageable on its own, but together they formed something far worse: a pattern.

Vargan was building pressure slowly and deliberately, like a hunter tightening a snare.

Kael eventually looked up from the maps.

"We need to respond."

Several heads nodded immediately, which was hardly surprising since that was why they were here: to make decisions, to act, and to solve problems.

The room fell silent again as everyone waited for him.

Soren stared at the map spread across the table, tracing the roads, the borders, the villages, and the names.

Normally, ideas would already be forming in his mind—possibilities, plans, and responses.

Instead, he found himself remembering a narrow ravine, a warning, a disagreement, and eight dead wolves.

"We need to respond," Kael repeated, this time more carefully.

Soren realized that everyone was watching him again, as they always did.

The old irritation never came, but neither did the certainty.

There was only exhaustion and the uncomfortable awareness that the last decisive action he had taken had buried eight wolves.

For the first time in years, he did not trust his own instincts.

The realization settled heavily inside him, and perhaps that was the most alarming thing of all, because if he no longer trusted himself, what exactly was left?