Page 62 of Salt Between the Wolves

The simple familiarity of it eased something inside her, though not enough to silence the unease entirely.

She eventually stopped before the stall she had begun visiting most often, and the mare inside lifted her head immediately.

She was not the most beautiful horse in the stable. Several others possessed finer coloring or more impressive bloodlines, and she was not the fastest either, since a younger stallion housed near the far end could outrun nearly every horse Ironfang owned.

What this mare offered was neither beauty nor distinction, but reliability.

She was large without being cumbersome, calm without being sluggish, and carried herself with the quiet confidence of an animal that had spent years crossing difficult terrain without complaint.

Eira rested her forearms against the stall door, and the mare stepped forward to press her nose into her palm.

A faint smile touched Eira's mouth before disappearing again.

"You'd be a terrible choice for glory," she murmured.

The mare merely blinked at her with complete indifference.

Eira stroked the white marking running down the center of her face.

The horse would never draw attention on a battlefield or become the subject of stories, yet she could travel for days without tiring and remain steady beneath almost any rider.

She was a practical choice, and the thought lingered longer than it should have.

Slowly, Eira withdrew her hand and stood there for several moments, staring at the animal until an uncomfortable realization settled over her.

She was no longer imagining possibilities or wondering whether leaving might someday become necessary.

Without ever speaking the decision aloud, she had already begun preparing for it by considering the route, the supplies, the weather, and now even the horse she would ride.

Each choice had seemed harmless on its own, but together they formed something far more difficult to ignore.

The mare nudged her shoulder again in search of attention, and Eira let out a quiet breath.

Outside, the sounds of the fortress drifted faintly through the stable walls. Somewhere beyond them, life in Ironfang continued exactly as it always had, filled with training, work, meals shared in the hall she rarely entered anymore, and conversations she no longer joined.

For a moment she tried to imagine remaining, but the image refused to settle.

Everything she pictured felt borrowed somehow, as though she were forcing herself into a future that belonged to someone else.

The mare shifted her weight and lowered her head, and Eira rested her hand against the animal's neck.

The decision still frightened her, not because she doubted she could leave, but because part of her had once believed she would never want to.

That realization remained the cruelest discovery of all.

After a while she stepped away from the stall and made her way back toward the stable entrance while the mare watched her go.

At the doorway, Eira glanced back one final time before continuing into the fading afternoon light, carrying with her the uncomfortable certainty that every day spent in Ironfang now felt less like staying and more like waiting.

The infirmary occupied one of the quieter sections of the fortress, tucked against the inner rock where the stone helped hold warmth through the long winters. The familiar scent of dried herbs greeted Eira before she even crossed the threshold, mingling with traces of smoke, beeswax, and old wood polished smooth by decades of use.

Nothing seemed to change here, or perhaps everything changed more slowly than in the rest of Ironfang.

Bundles of herbs still hung from the rafters, clay jars lined the shelves, and mortars, pestles, and neatly folded bandages occupied the worktables exactly where they always had.

The sight brought an unexpected sense of relief, and for a moment she simply stood in the doorway.

Then the old healer glanced up from the herbs she was sorting.