"Fine. Thank you. It's a lovely deer. Really. I'm very grateful. Even if something peed on it."
"Nothing peed on it."
"You don't know that."
We work together to prep it—Kestria on the messy parts, me setting up the smoking rack.
Salt. Do I have enough salt?
Hm, I think so.
"So why are you really back early?"
"I told you. Bored."
"After one day."
"My brother was in a mood." She wipes her knife on her trousers again, adding to the stains. "I told him what you said, by the way."
"About the scouts?"
"Mm."
"How'd that go?"
"He didn't say much." She adjusts the blade, scraping. "He never does."
"Helpful."
"Figured I'd come back. Help with the comfrey. See if Nugget was still pink."
"She is."
"Excellent. My day is already improving."
The mist is burning off, sunlight breaking through the trees in dusty shafts. Pretty. Going to be warm later. I should move the basil inside before—
Hoofbeats.
Multiple. Moving fast.
Who would be—
Kestria's already straightening, knife in hand. Her whole body goes tense—different than the wolf. Worse. Wrong.
"Get inside." Her voice is flat. No room.
"What?"
"Mel, just—" She grabs my arm, pulls me toward the door, fingers tight enough to bruise. "Get inside. Now."
"Who's coming? What's—"
"Please."
I've never heard her say please that way. Not asking. Begging.
The hoofbeats are getting closer. Four horses, maybe five, crashing through the underbrush. Riders in rough clothes coming into view between the trees. Armed. One of the horses is limping—front left leg, the way it's favoring the right. Poor thing.
