Page 144 of Salt Between the Wolves

By the time Soren dismounted, the village elder was already waiting.

The old man bowed his head respectfully.

"My lord."

Soren wasted no time.

"The traveler."

The elder hesitated before answering.

"A woman, yes."

Hope surged through Soren so quickly it almost hurt.

For two weeks he had followed dead ends and false trails, waking each morning with the same certainty that the next lead would finally bring him to her. Each disappointment had made that certainty harder to justify, yet some stubborn part of him refused to let it go.

The elder continued.

"Dark hair."

The hope vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Soren looked away as disappointment settled heavily in his chest. Another mistaken report. Another stranger. Another lead that had seemed promising until the details caught up with it.

Behind him, one of his riders shifted uncomfortably, but nobody spoke or offered consolation. They had repeated this ritual too many times already.

The elder cleared his throat.

"She was traveling north."

That alone confirmed what Soren already knew. Whoever the traveler had been, she was not Eira.

He nodded once, signaling that the conversation was over.

The old man retreated, and the village returned to life around them. Children crossed the square carrying bundles of firewood, farmers led horses between sheds, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked.

They were ordinary things belonging to ordinary lives, and Soren found himself envying them before the thought irritated him.

He turned away.

"We leave."

No one argued, and within minutes they were mounted and riding again.

The journey back began in silence. Mountains watched from every horizon while the wind cut through layers of fur and leather. Hours passed, the sun disappeared, darkness settled over the land, and still they rode.

Eventually one of the younger warriors approached.

"Campsite ahead."

Soren nodded.

The man hesitated before speaking again.

"My lord."

Soren looked up.