Page 143 of Salt Between the Wolves

The sound surprised her, not because it happened, but because it came so easily.

Across the table, Maelin smiled, and it was not the careful smile she sometimes wore when watching Eira but a genuine one that looked relaxed, content, and almost as though seeing her there completed something.

The realization tightened unexpectedly in Eira's chest.

Later, after the meal had ended, the family drifted naturally toward the fire.

Lyra climbed onto the sofa beside her mother, Finn settled into a nearby chair with a book, and Aldric disappeared briefly before returning with another blanket, which he placed around Maelin's shoulders without interrupting the conversation taking place around them.

The gesture lasted only a moment and was so simple and unremarkable that no one else in the room appeared to notice it.

Eira noticed, however, because Aldric had not done it to make a point or because anyone was watching; he had simply realized that Maelin was cold and acted without hesitation.

The conversation continued, nobody thanked him, nobody commented, and the blanket remained around Maelin's shoulders as life moved forward.

Eira looked away.

Something about that small moment unsettled her more than she wanted to admit, not because it was extraordinary but because it wasn't.

It seemed ordinary here, as though care had been woven into the fabric of the household so completely that no one felt the need to acknowledge it, treating it neither as a duty nor an obligation but simply as a habit.

The fire crackled softly while Lyra eventually fell asleep against her mother's side.

Finn pretended not to notice, though Aldric carried her upstairs anyway.

Leander excused himself shortly afterward, claiming that paperwork awaited him, though nobody believed him, including Leander himself.

The room gradually emptied, the house settled, and quiet returned.

When Eira finally climbed the stairs to her room, the familiar ache in her chest remained, though it was not sadness, or at least not entirely; it was something far more difficult to name.

As she entered the room, her gaze fell upon the travel bag resting near the bed, the same bag that had carried her across forests, mountains, and frozen roads.

For a long moment she simply looked at it before crossing the room with slow, silent steps.

Her fingers brushed the worn leather, the buckle, and the familiar straps, yet she did not begin packing.

Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the bag in the darkness.

Outside, the wind moved softly against the windows, and somewhere deeper within the house a floorboard creaked, creating the quiet sounds of a home settling for the night.

For the first time since arriving, Eira allowed herself to imagine leaving, not because she wanted to but because staying was no longer the same thing.

As she sat there in the silence, staring at the bag she had not yet opened, she realized that part of her had already begun preparing for the journey west.

Chapter 18: The Breaking Point

Soren

The trail was three days old, and Soren knew it long before they reached the village.

Snow had fallen twice since the traveler passed through, softening footprints and swallowing details beneath fresh layers of white. What remained were little more than fragments, broken impressions, rumors, and guesses rather than anything that could be called evidence.

Even so, he had come.

The village sat at the edge of Ironfang territory, where the mountains gradually surrendered to forests and narrow farming valleys. Smoke rose from stone chimneys and disappeared into the pale winter sky.

The villagers noticed him immediately, as they always did. An alpha was difficult to miss, and an alpha arriving with armed riders was impossible to ignore.