Page 33 of Salt Between the Wolves

Movement overhead drew her attention.

Several hawks circled high above the valley, carried effortlessly by invisible currents. They drifted between distant peaks before disappearing beyond a western ridge.

“You've got the same expression I had the first time I came here.”

Riven appeared beside her, following her gaze toward the valley.

“When was that?”

“Twelve.”

Eira stared.

“Twelve?”

“I was very wise for my age.”

“You still aren't.”

He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.

“That was unnecessarily cruel.”

“Truth often is.”

His laughter carried easily into the wind.

For a few moments they stood in companionable silence, looking out across the valley below.

“I thought the world ended at the mountains when I was a child,” he admitted eventually.

“You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You grew up here.”

“Exactly.”

His grin returned.

“When you're small enough, everything feels enormous. Then somebody drags you over a ridge and suddenly there are ten more mountains behind the first mountain.”

He gestured vaguely toward the west.

“Then another valley. Another river. Another road. Eventually you realize the world keeps going whether you're ready for it or not.”

The amusement softened in his expression.

“It makes things feel less permanent.”

Eira found herself looking back toward the horizon.

Less permanent.

Perhaps that was what she had been feeling without finding the language for it.

The certainty that had governed her entire life was beginning to loosen around the edges. Not disappear. Not vanish overnight.