Page 29 of Salt Between the Wolves

“Not likely.”

The exchange was brief, unremarkable.

Yet something about its ease unsettled Soren more than it should have.

Riven reached for her horse's reins while she adjusted one of the straps along the saddle. Their conversation continued as they worked, too quiet to carry across the yard, though from the occasional smile it clearly required little effort.

They looked comfortable together.

The observation arrived uninvited, and Soren regretted it the moment it formed.

Across the yard, Eira finished securing her gear and glanced toward the gate. Toward him.

The distance between them was considerable, yet the moment stretched unexpectedly. Neither moved or looked away, and for the briefest instant Soren thought she might cross the yard. Part of him almost wanted her to.

The thought vanished as quickly as it came.

Eira remained where she was. Whatever expectation had lingered between them seemed to hesitate and then quietly dissolve. After a moment she turned back toward the others and began preparing to mount.

A faint tension settled in Soren's chest, not because she had looked away, but because he suddenly realized he had been waiting for something. An explanation, perhaps. A confrontation. Some chance to revisit the conversation beside the stables and steer it toward a different ending.

The realization was neither useful nor welcome.

Riven swung easily into the saddle and settled his horse with practiced confidence. One by one the others followed, and the scattered activity of preparation gradually gave way to the ordered shape of a patrol ready to depart.

When everything was finally in place, Riven guided his horse toward the gate.

“Try not to miss me too much,” he said.

A few nearby wolves laughed, and despite himself Soren felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Return with everyone you leave with.”

The humor faded, though not entirely.

Riven inclined his head. “I will.”

For a moment they regarded one another in silence. Then Riven's expression shifted, the easy confidence giving way to something more sincere.

“Thank you.”

The words caught Soren off guard, not because gratitude was unusual, but because of how much they clearly meant. This was more than another patrol in Riven's eyes. It was trust, recognition, and the first real command he had ever been given. The kind of opportunity a young warrior remembered long after the details themselves had faded.

“You've earned it,” Soren said.

Riven's grin returned at once.

“Good. Because I was planning to take credit for it either way.”

The laughter that followed eased some of the tension in the yard before Riven turned his horse and returned to the head of the formation.

A few moments later the patrol began to move.

Riders passed through the gates in a steady line, hooves crunching through fresh snow as they followed the mountain road downward. The column gradually stretched along the trail, dark figures threading between white drifts and pine shadows.

Eira rode near the center.

As she approached the gate, her horse slowed almost imperceptibly—not enough to disrupt the formation, only enough to create a moment.