Page 83 of Salt Between the Wolves

At first she thought the movement in the distance belonged to another traveler, but then she saw the horse and realized it was a lone rider approaching from the eastern road with slow, deliberate purpose.

Eira's breath caught as the rider drew closer, then closer still, remaining far too distant for details and yet somehow familiar.

Something inside her already knew.

It was not because of the horse or the cloak, but because some recognitions survived time.

The figure crested the final rise below the hill, and for a moment sunlight caught pale hair beneath the hood.

Eira stopped breathing.

Maelin had come after all these years.

Chapter 13: Sisters

Eira

The rider reached the base of the hill and slowed, and for a moment neither of them moved.

The distance between them had narrowed enough for Eira to distinguish details now—the dark cloak, the pale braid resting over one shoulder, and the careful way the woman guided her horse across the uneven ground.

Then the rider dismounted, moving slowly and with more care than Eira remembered.

Only then did she notice the slight curve beneath the cloak and the way one hand briefly settled against her side before she began climbing.

Eira stared as the realization arrived a heartbeat later.

Her sister was pregnant.

The thought struck with unexpected force. They had been apart for years, and somehow Eira had never imagined this version of her sister—not as a wife, not as a mother, and certainly not carrying another child.

Maelin climbed the final stretch of the hill alone.

The wind tugged at her cloak as she approached the ruins, and for one terrible moment Eira found herself wondering whether she would recognize her at all.

The answer came immediately, because of course she would.

Time had changed her. Age had softened some features and sharpened others, and the girl Eira remembered had become a woman. Fine lines touched the corners of her eyes, and her face carried a maturity that hadn't been there before.

Yet none of it mattered.

She still looked like Maelin, she still moved like Maelin, and somehow that made the years between them feel both impossibly long and painfully short.

Eira took a step forward.

Maelin did not. Instead, she stopped just inside the ruins and turned, letting her gaze sweep across the surrounding hills, the road below, the tree line, and the slope behind the tower as she checked every direction and every possible approach to make certain they were alone.

Only when she seemed satisfied did she finally look at Eira.

The sight stole the breath from Eira's lungs, not because of how much her sister had changed, but because of the expression on her face.

Relief, fear, and disbelief were all tangled together there.

For several seconds neither spoke, and the silence felt strangely fragile, as though either of them might break it the wrong way.

Maelin's eyes moved over her slowly, taking in the travel-worn cloak, the bruises that remained visible despite the passing days, the exhaustion, the thinner face, and the longer hair—every sign of the road and every sign of what it had cost to reach this place.

Eira realized she was doing exactly the same thing, studying, comparing, and searching for familiar pieces inside someone who felt almost like a stranger.