Page 52 of Salt Between the Wolves

There was only silence.

Riven joined those who had come before him and, in doing so, remained part of Ironfang forever.

One by one, the wolves began leaving, with families departing first, then hunters, and finally the elders.

Gradually, the mountain reclaimed its quiet.

Eira remained where she was as the wind moved through the cliffs above her, carrying the scent of smoke and distant pine.

Far below, darkness covered the valleys.

Behind her, the last footsteps faded, while ahead of her stood the mountain itself.

For as long as she could remember, part of her had belonged somewhere.

To Frostvein.

To Ironfang.

Now there was only absence.

And when she finally found herself alone beneath the stars, she realized that the loneliness hurt almost as much as the grief.

Chapter 8: After the Fire

Soren

The training grounds had grown busier in the weeks since Riven's death.

No one spoke about the reason directly, but Soren saw it all the same.

The longer the conflict with Frostvein dragged on, the more restless Ironfang became. Hunters volunteered for patrols more readily, young warriors arrived earlier than before and stayed longer after drills ended, and even the older fighters who rarely stepped into the training circle now watched from the edges of the yard with folded arms and thoughtful expressions.

Everyone felt the pressure, and everyone understood that worse days might still be coming.

The morning air carried the lingering bite of winter as Soren crossed the packed earth of the training grounds. Wooden weapons cracked together in steady rhythms while instructors moved among the fighters, correcting footwork and posture.

For a time, the routine helped because routine always helped. A misplaced step could be corrected, a weak defense could be strengthened, and a reckless fighter could be taught patience. Problems became simpler when they could be solved with effort and repetition.

Soren paused beside a pair of younger warriors and adjusted one man's grip on his practice sword before telling them, "Again."

The fighters resumed their drill.

A few paces farther on, another pair exchanged a flurry of strikes that relied more on enthusiasm than discipline. Soren watched them for a moment and immediately spotted the problem. They were moving too fast and fighting with too little control, allowing one opening to create another until the taller fighter overcommitted, shifted his balance, and gave his opponent an easy opportunity to take advantage.

Soren opened his mouth, and for an instant the correction rose automatically.

Riven, show him.

The thought appeared so naturally that it took several seconds for Soren to understand why the words never followed.

The realization settled heavily in his chest.

Riven wasn't here.

The training circle continued around him as wood struck wood and voices carried across the yard, while somewhere behind him a group of younger wolves laughed at a joke he couldn't hear. Life continued moving forward, but Riven did not.

Soren forced his attention back to the fighters and saw that the mistake had already been corrected by one of the instructors, leaving him no reason to linger.