Page 78 of Salt Between the Wolves

For the first hour, she looked back constantly, watching every turn in the trail, every rise in the road, and every sound carried by the wind. Part of her expected riders to appear behind her, while another part expected someone to call her name or for her to wake and discover that none of this had happened at all.

But the mountains remained empty, and only her horse's hooves disturbed the silence.

Gradually, the distance between her and Ironfang began to grow. The fortress disappeared first, followed by the familiar ridges, until even the highest watchtowers vanished behind the mountains, yet still no one came after her.

The realization settled strangely inside her. It was not relief, at least not yet, but something lighter, something she had almost forgotten existed.

Freedom.

The thought felt dangerous, and Eira tightened her grip on the reins.

There was no destination waiting for her at the end of the road, no father, no council, no law, and no bond demanding obedience. There was only her own decision.

The sensation should have terrified her, yet instead it made her want to laugh, and a small, disbelieving smile touched her lips.

The feeling lasted less than a minute before guilt followed, arriving so suddenly that it stole the breath from her lungs.

Riven was dead.

Mara was still in Ironfang.

And Soren—

The thought stopped there, and she forced herself to look ahead.

The road wound between snow-covered pines before disappearing into the mountains. The bond stirred quietly, though not with the sharp pull she had felt before. It was neither longing nor comfort, but something more distant, like an old bruise pressed beneath a sleeve.

Eira ignored it, or at least tried to, though the mountains did not allow much room for distraction.

As the morning advanced, the trail narrowed and began climbing steadily upward. Loose stones shifted beneath her horse's hooves, the air grew colder, and the wind moved across the ridges with enough force to sting exposed skin.

By midday she stopped near a rocky outcrop overlooking a frozen valley.

The view stretched for miles, encompassing dark forests, white peaks, and frozen rivers glimmering beneath pale winter sunlight.

Eira dismounted and rubbed warmth back into her hands.

The silence felt enormous, marked by the absence of conversations, patrols, voices drifting from the great hall, and laughter.

She sat on a sun-warmed stone and drank from her waterskin. Then closed her eyes. The thought struck harder than she expected.

For months she had complained about never being alone, and now she finally was, completely and undeniably.

The loneliness arrived almost immediately.

When she finally opened her eyes, the valley remained unchanged—silent, beautiful, and indifferent.

Eventually she rose and returned to her horse.

The road continued west, the mountains continued west, and somewhere beyond them waited a future she could not yet imagine.

As the afternoon wore on, the land slowly began to change. The familiar patrol routes around Ironfang disappeared, the markers she recognized became fewer, and the trails grew less travelled and less familiar.

Eira felt it before she saw it.

The invisible boundary marked the edge of the territory she had spent months learning and, with it, the edge of home.

She reined in her horse atop a narrow ridge.