Page 30 of Salt Between the Wolves

Soren felt himself focus on her despite every intention not to.

She looked toward him once more.

There was no accusation in her expression now, no visible disappointment. Whatever hope had existed between them seemed to have been carefully folded away and set aside, beyond his reach and perhaps beyond hers as well.

For a heartbeat he thought she might speak.

Instead, she offered a small nod.

It was courteous, restrained, and distant in a way that stung more than anger would have. The gesture of someone who had accepted an answer, even if she had not liked it.

Then she turned her horse and rode on.

Soren watched until she disappeared among the trees, following the rest of the patrol down the winding road. The last riders vanished soon after, leaving only a trail of tracks across the snow, already beginning to blur beneath the steady fall.

Around him, the fortress gradually returned to its usual rhythm. Guards resumed their posts, stablehands led the remaining horses away, and the gates remained open as they always did, waiting for the next arrival, the next departure, the next ordinary day.

Yet the yard felt strangely empty.

Soren lingered there for some time, his gaze fixed on the road long after the patrol had vanished from sight. Eventually he turned back toward the fortress, reminding himself of all the reasons the decision had been the right one.

The route was safe. The weather was manageable. Riven was capable and well prepared.

Every part of the choice remained sensible, reasonable, and necessary.

And yet, as he crossed the yard and left the open gate behind him, Soren could not shake the feeling that he had lost something all the same.

Chapter 6: Beyond the Ridge

Eira

The mountains changed gradually once Ironfang disappeared behind them.

At first, the road wound through familiar terrain—dark pines, exposed stone, and steep ridges crowned with snow. The fortress remained visible for longer than Eira expected, a dark shape carved into the mountainside that grew smaller with every turn until the trees finally swallowed it from sight.

Only then did she force herself to look ahead.

The patrol stretched along the narrow trail, horses moving at an easy pace while fresh snow drifted lazily through the air. The weather had held, just as the forecasts promised, and the wind threaded its way through the pines in slow, steady currents, carrying the sharp scent of resin and cold stone.

For a time, no one spoke.

The rhythm of travel settled naturally over the group—the crunch of hooves on packed snow, the soft creak of leather, the occasional snort of a horse. Somewhere farther ahead, one of the riders began humming under his breath, the tune barely audible beneath the sounds of the forest.

Eira found herself grateful for the quiet.

The distance from Ironfang should have felt freeing, yet her thoughts remained stubbornly tangled.

She had spent most of the morning trying not to replay the conversation beside the stables, and so far the effort had been entirely unsuccessful.

Nothing has changed.

The words kept returning no matter how often she pushed them away.

Not because she believed them.

Because she didn't.

That was what made them so difficult to ignore.