Page 81 of A Sunwoven Ascent

A warning.

Or perhaps it was a test, as Evelyne was not the only one unsettled. Cillian walked beside her with the same faint crease between his brows, and behind them several of the Oathroot wolves shifted uneasily. At last, one of them spoke.

“I do not believe this is the right way,” the male said.

“Are you from Caltheris as well?” Alaric asked, his voice edged with agitation. “Velenshire? Rosewyth?”

“No, but… I cannot explain it. It only feels as though we ought to go a little farther east.”

“With all due respect, you are mistaken. Velenshire lies this way. Why are you all behaving so strangely?”

Evelyne had no words for the feeling and the Ironwolf wolves remained silent. None of them had ever ventured this far south before; Velenshire was little more than a name to them, perhaps even the stuff of stories. And from what little Evelyne had gathered of the Oathroot pack, most had been raised along the western edges of the southern territories, drifting between villages and forest settlements without ever truly belonging to a pack.

Alaric gave a small shake of his head. “This is the way into Velenshire. I know it.”

Evelyne studied him for a moment, then nodded. Alaric would get them home.

They pressed forward, following the trail as it sloped through a small stand of trees and opened at last into a wide meadow. Beyond it, half-veiled by thinning branches, the outskirts of Velenshire came into view—the first rooftops lifting above the orchard lines, a pale ribbon of smoke curling into the late-afternoon sky.

Home. The sight of it stirred a fragile sense of relief. Perhaps Alaric had been right. Perhaps they had only needed to move beyond that strange, lingering wrongness.

Then he stopped. Behind them, both packs slowed and fell still, boots and paws quieting in the grass. For a moment, Alaric said nothing, only stared toward the distant town.

“We can’t all walk in there like this,” he said at last, turning to face them.

His gaze swept over the assembled group of the Ironwolf pack and the battered remnants of Oathroot. Some still bruised, some still filthy from the tunnels. Most dressed in travel leathers and scavenged clothing that would draw every eye in Velenshire’s tidy streets.

“If we marched into the city as we are,” he continued in a calm voice, “we’d have half the town watching us before we reached the market square.”

The sun had started to set and soon the sky would be black, but he was right. The bustling market did not sleep and the cobblestones and shops would be lit up for everyone to see.

Evelyne glanced at Kaldrek. He stood with his arms folded, saying nothing, while Alaric continued.

“There is a field just past the orchard lands,” he said, gesturing across the meadow. “The Shaw estate keeps grazing land there. It is quiet and tucked away enough that travelers pass through without much notice. We can make camp there and blend into the countryside until I have spoken with Lord and Lady Shaw.”

Several of the Oathroot wolves exchanged glances before nodding their agreement.

“They are good people,” Alaric added. “If anyone will help us shelter everyone safely, it will be them.”

As the plan took shape, Evelyne’s attention shifted to Holden. He had been standing slightly apart from the others, arms loose at his sides, his gaze fixed resolutely anywhere but near Aurelia, though he had clearly heard every word. The moment Alaric finished, he stepped forward.

“I will take them there.”

Alaric gave a quiet nod and told him to follow the stream until it bent south, where the meadow lay just beyond the orchard fence. Holden inclined his head once, then turned at once to the gathered wolves.

“You heard him. Let’s move.”

He seemed almost relieved to lead them away from the road to Velenshire, and Evelyne could not help noticing how quickly he assumed command, directing Ironwolf and Oathroot alike with calm authority as he divided the group and guided them toward the open countryside. He never once looked back. Evelyne frowned, though she said nothing.

Within minutes the two packs were moving across the field, spreading through the grass in an orderly line, with Holden at their head, shoulders set as he led them toward the distant orchard trees. He had accepted Alaric’s instructions without question, almost too readily, and Evelyne watched until the last of them vanished into the tall grass.

She looked back to the narrow road leading into Velenshire. The air still pressed oddly against her senses, but there was no denying where it led. This was home.

“They will be looking at us, you know,” Aurelia said, gesturing to the borrowed leathers draped over her shoulders.

Evelyne couldn’t help smiling. Seeing her sister standing on her own two feet again—skin nearly healed, color returned to her face—felt like a small miracle.

“Well, let us hope we do not come upon anyone we know,” Evelyne said, lightly biting the inside of her cheek. “Still, you are right—we cannot very well present ourselves looking armed to the teeth.” Her eyes moved over the others before coming to rest on Kaldrek. “We ought to hide the daggers.”