Page 53 of Salt Between the Wolves

The next interruption came less than ten minutes later when one of the scouts approached carrying a stack of reports from the western patrols.

Without thinking, Soren glanced toward the section of the yard where Riven usually trained.

The space stood empty.

The scout continued speaking, but Soren missed half of what was said. By the time he realized it, the young man had stopped talking and was waiting expectantly.

Soren blinked before saying, "Say that again."

The scout repeated himself, and this time Soren listened.

The conversation continued, the reports were discussed, and decisions were made, yet the brief lapse lingered long after the scout departed.

It happened too often now in small moments and small absences that appeared without warning and disappeared just as quickly. They were not memories so much as expectations, because his mind still searched for someone who was no longer there.

Riven should have been among the warriors crowding the yard. He should have been correcting younger fighters, arguing with instructors, volunteering for duties no one wanted, and grinning his way through reprimands he had already heard a dozen times before.

Instead, another young warrior occupied the place where he usually stood.

The sight felt wrong, not because the man had done anything wrong, but because the world had continued moving forward with a speed Soren found increasingly difficult to accept.

A sharp crack echoed across the yard as two practice swords collided hard enough to draw attention. Several fighters stepped back, and it was immediately obvious that one of them had lost his temper.

Soren crossed the distance before either man could escalate the situation further.

The argument died immediately upon his arrival, and neither warrior met his gaze or seemed eager to explain himself.

For a moment Soren simply looked at them before realizing what had happened.

Fear, restlessness, and frustration were spreading through the pack. He had been seeing the signs everywhere, and he felt the same things himself. The only difference was that he had nowhere to put them.

Weeks had passed since Riven's death, yet the grief had not lessened. It had simply changed shape.

Now it followed him through ordinary moments, appearing in empty spaces and unfinished thoughts, in expectations that no longer had anyone to answer them.

Soren looked across the training grounds once more.

The courtyard below the council hall overlooked much of the fortress.

From there, Soren could see the lower yards, sections of the outer wall, and the narrow paths winding between workshops and storehouses, which was one of the reasons the elders preferred meeting there, as few places offered a better view of Ironfang itself.

The council had not yet assembled, and a handful of elders were still making their way across the fortress, leaving Soren with several quiet minutes before the discussions began.

Ordinarily, he would have welcomed the solitude, but today he found himself leaning against the stone railing and staring across the courtyard without really seeing it.

A movement near the lower gallery eventually drew his attention.

Eira had emerged from one of the side passages carrying something beneath her arm, her braid falling over one shoulder as she crossed the courtyard below.

For a moment, Soren simply watched.

The sight of her no longer came as a surprise, and lately it seemed he noticed her almost immediately no matter where she was, a consequence of the bond that continued to connect them.

Even now, the familiar awareness stirred somewhere beneath his ribs, quieter than before yet no weaker, only different in a way that reflected how much the past weeks had changed between them.

Eira moved steadily through the fortress with her attention fixed ahead.

Several wolves passed her along the way; one offered a greeting that she returned politely, while another slowed as though considering whether to stop and speak before ultimately continuing on.