Page 4 of Salt Between the Wolves

Risk. Instability. Her.

Fragments drifted toward her through the discussion.

“…southern ridge defenses…”

“…if Frostvein pushes farther west…”

“…too much attention too quickly…”

And beneath it all lingered the subtle hesitation that followed whenever she moved closer to the table or shifted within the room, as though everyone present had become newly conscious of her existence without wanting to acknowledge it aloud.

No one accused her. That almost made it worse.

The meeting stretched long enough for the fire near the hearth to burn lower, exhaustion gradually settling through the chamber and thinning patience into something brittle. By the end, even the older wolves had begun rubbing tension from their hands and shoulders between exchanges.

Soren finally straightened away from the table.

“We hold the western routes,” he said. “Double patrols through the lower pass until the weather clears. If Varos wants distance, let them keep it for now.”

No one argued.

The council dispersed slowly after that, wolves gathering maps and notes while quieter conversations broke apart around the room in scattered fragments. Eira remained where she was for a moment longer, watching snow blur against the windows as the chamber emptied around her.

She became aware of Soren approaching only when the bond tightened faintly beneath her skin, just enough to shift the rhythm of her pulse.

He stopped beside the table, close enough that she could feel warmth lingering beneath the cold scent of snow and smoke carried in from outside. For one brief moment she thought he might finally speak to her directly.

Instead, his attention settled on the map between them.

“The northern paths will ice over by tomorrow,” he said without looking at her. “Avoid the ridge crossings after dark.”

The words were practical, controlled, stripped of anything personal.

Then he moved past her and left the chamber without waiting for an answer.

Eira stood very still after he was gone.

Around her, the last of the council wolves disappeared into the corridor, their voices fading gradually into the fortress beyond, until only the storm and the low crackle of the dying fire remained.

Only then did she finally exhale.

The room felt colder than it had before.

When Eira finally left the council chamber, the fortress had grown quieter beneath the storm.

Snow pressed thickly against the outer walls, muting the mountain beyond them until Ironfang felt sealed inside its own stone bones. Torches burned lower along the upper corridors, their light wavering softly against dark rock as she walked without choosing a direction at first, her thoughts still caught somewhere between the council table and the look Soren had never given her.

Or perhaps the one he had refused to.

The conversation replayed itself in fragments as she descended the inner passageways.

Varos pulling away.

The smaller packs hesitating.

The careful silences that settled whenever her presence brushed too close to the center of the room.

And beneath all of it, Soren standing at the head of the table, defending Ironfang with the same cold certainty he used for everything else while never once acknowledging what sat beneath the surface of the discussion.