Page 76 of Salt Between the Wolves

She had left Ironfang.

A cold sensation settled beneath Mara's ribs. It wasn't fear, at least not yet, but something heavier, because for the first time since Riven's death she found herself wondering whether they had all missed something that had been standing directly in front of them.

When she opened her eyes again, the stablemaster was already looking worried.

"What do we do?"

Mara didn't answer immediately.

Her gaze remained fixed on the empty stall.

By late afternoon, the mountains had begun swallowing the sun.

The patrol continued west along a narrow ridge road that wound between dark pines and steep slopes dusted with old snow, while shadows stretched longer with every passing hour and crept steadily across the valleys below.

Soren had spoken very little since midday, and at first no one paid much attention to it because silence was hardly unusual for him. As the day wore on, however, even the most oblivious members of the patrol began noticing the tension that followed him like a storm cloud, as questions received only short answers, observations were met with absent nods, and twice he failed to respond at all.

The bond refused to leave him alone, and the sensation had changed again. What had begun as unease before dawn had become something else entirely—not physical distance, but something deeper and undeniably wrong.

Soren had spent the better part of the day trying to explain it away, yet each explanation felt less convincing than the last.

The mountains opened briefly ahead, revealing a distant view of the eastern horizon, and his gaze drifted toward it automatically, toward Ironfang, toward home, and ultimately toward her.

The moment the thought appeared, irritation followed, prompting him to force his attention back to the trail.

The bond tightened and then stretched again, creating a sensation so subtle it was almost imperceptible, yet impossible to ignore, as though something continued moving farther away no matter how often he reached for it.

A horse shifted alongside him, and when he glanced over, he found Kael riding there.

For several moments they traveled in silence before Kael finally looked toward him and said, "You've been looking east all day."

Soren offered no answer.

Kael's expression remained unreadable as he added, "Whatever it is, you'll figure it out."

The words were simple and reasonable, and under ordinary circumstances they would have been enough, but today they accomplished nothing. The unease remained, persistent and unrelenting, like a warning he couldn't translate.

As the patrol rounded another bend, several riders ahead suddenly slowed and one of the scouts raised a hand.

There was movement far down the trail.

A lone rider was approaching fast—far too fast.

The mood shifted immediately as conversations died away and heads turned toward the distant figure. Every rider in the patrol understood the same thing: nobody traveled through the mountains with such urgency unless there was a reason.

The horse was lathered with sweat, and its rider leaned low over the saddle, pushing relentlessly forward with obvious desperation to close the distance.

Soren watched the approaching figure while something cold settled in his chest.

The bond tightened sharply, not with pain but with recognition.

The rider remained too far away to identify and still too distant for words, yet suddenly every strange sensation from the past day aligned in his mind: the awakening before dawn, the emptiness, the restlessness, the strange feeling of growing distance, and the certainty that something was wrong.

All of it collapsed into a single realization.

Not details, facts, or understanding—only one name.

Eira.