Page 28 of Salt Between the Wolves

Then he was gone.

Silence settled over the room once more.

For a long time, Soren remained where he was.

The decision had been made. Riven deserved the opportunity, the route was manageable, and Ironfang required leadership here.

Every reason supporting the choice was logical, reasonable, and difficult to argue against.

And yet none of them explained why relief had arrived alongside it, or why that realization lingered long after the door had closed.

Soren stared at the map spread across the table before finally folding it and setting it aside.

The patrol would leave at dawn, and he told himself the matter was settled.

For some reason, the certainty never came.

Morning arrived beneath a sky the color of old steel.

Snow drifted steadily across the fortress, not heavy enough to delay travel, but sufficient to soften the outlines of walls, rooftops, and watchtowers. The gates stood open, revealing the narrow mountain road descending westward between dark pines and exposed stone.

The patrol gathered in the lower yard long before sunrise.

Horses stamped against the cold while riders checked straps, adjusted packs, and exchanged the quiet remarks that always accompanied departure. The atmosphere carried a subdued energy, the familiar mixture of anticipation and routine that came whenever wolves prepared to leave the safety of the fortress behind.

Soren watched from near the gate.

No one questioned his presence there.

As alpha, seeing a patrol off was hardly unusual.

What felt unusual was standing still while someone else prepared to ride in his place.

Across the yard, Riven moved easily among the others, accepting congratulations with an expression that made no effort to hide his satisfaction. The responsibility suited him. Even from a distance, Soren could see the confidence in the younger wolf’s posture, the barely restrained pride that came from being trusted with something meaningful.

It was the sort of opportunity every ambitious young warrior waited for.

And Riven had earned it.

More than once, Soren found himself thinking exactly that, as though repetition might transform the statement into certainty.

Riven had earned it. The route was manageable. The patrol would return within days. Everything about the decision remained reasonable.

Yet the reassurance never settled as firmly as it should have.

Movement near the stables drew his attention.

Eira emerged from the shadows between the buildings, leading her horse toward the assembled riders.

For a moment, the noise of the yard seemed to recede.

She wore practical travel clothes beneath a heavy cloak, her pale hair secured more tightly than usual against the wind. Snow caught briefly in the loose strands around her temples before melting away.

Riven spotted her almost immediately. His face brightened.

“About time,” he called. “I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind.”

Eira shook her head.