Page 32 of Salt Between the Wolves

“Careful, Commander,” one of the older hunters called. “Power changes people.”

“It already has,” another agreed solemnly. “I heard he made a horse apologize this morning.”

Riven pointed at him accusingly.

“That horse knew what it did.”

The resulting laughter echoed through the trees.

To her own surprise, Eira found herself smiling again.

Not because the jokes were particularly clever, but because she had forgotten how easy simple company could feel. There were no expectations here, no politics, and no constant awareness of the bond waiting beneath every interaction. For a few hours, there was only the road, the mountains, and a group of wolves enjoying one another's company.

Riven glanced toward her, the smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. There was something gentler beneath it now—not pity, and not concern, but a quiet satisfaction that seemed to come simply from seeing her drawn back into the conversation.

For reasons she couldn't fully explain, that affected her more than the jokes themselves.

She turned her attention toward the mountains instead.

As the road climbed higher, the landscape gradually opened around them, revealing distant peaks stretching toward the horizon. Snow covered most of them, bright beneath the pale afternoon light, while frozen rivers traced silver paths through the valleys below.

Eira had never been this far west.

In Frostvein, the mountains had always been spoken of as boundaries. They marked the edges of territory, the limits of safety, the places beyond which other packs began.

Ironfang spoke about them differently.

To Ironfang, mountains were roads.

Standing here, watching ridge after ridge unfold into the distance, she understood the distinction more clearly than she ever had before. What had once seemed like walls now revealed themselves as passages leading somewhere beyond sight.

The thought stayed with her as they continued west.

The world seemed larger here.

Not because the mountains themselves were larger, but because no one was telling her where they ended.

Eventually the trail curved around a rocky outcrop and emerged onto a broad overlook where the valley opened beneath them in a sweep of forest, frozen rivers, and distant snowfields fading into pale blue haze.

Riven lifted a hand.

“We'll stop here.”

The order traveled easily through the column.

Riders slowed, horses grateful for the pause after several hours on the trail. Some dismounted immediately. Others remained in their saddles, content to enjoy the view.

Eira slid from her horse and stepped toward the edge of the ridge.

The wind reached her first.

It carried a different scent here than it did around Ironfang. Less smoke. Less stone. Somewhere far below, hidden beyond forests and frozen valleys, she caught the scent of moving water strong enough to survive beneath winter's grip.

For a while she simply stood there.

The silence felt different outside the fortress.

As though thought could travel farther before encountering a wall.