Page 67 of Salt Between the Wolves

Now she found herself doing none of those things.

The realization should have frightened her, yet it brought a strange sense of calm instead.

Somewhere between Riven's funeral and this moment, she had stopped waiting for someone else to decide what happened next.

That thought remained with her as she continued through the fortress, disappearing into the lengthening shadows of the afternoon.

By the time Eira reached the great hall, dusk had settled over Ironfang.

Warm light spilled through the open doors, carrying with it the familiar sounds of evening life as laughter drifted into the corridor, someone called out a joke from one of the long tables and earned a chorus of groans and scattered laughter in return, while plates clattered and benches scraped against stone.

For a moment, Eira remained where she was.

The great hall had once intimidated her, but over time it had become familiar—not quite home, yet close enough that she had stopped noticing the difference. Now she stood in the doorway and felt like a visitor.

Inside, the hall was nearly full. Warriors sat beside craftsmen, hunters shared tables with stablehands and traders, and the enormous hearth that dominated the center of the room cast a warm glow across faces she had spent months learning to recognize.

Life continued as it always did, and the realization carried no bitterness, only a quiet sadness.

No one noticed her immediately, and the conversations continued uninterrupted. A serving girl crossed between tables carrying a tray of steaming bowls, two older hunters argued over something that appeared deeply important to them and entirely irrelevant to everyone else, and near the far wall a group of younger wolves laughed so hard that one nearly spilled his drink.

For a few moments, Eira simply watched.

There had been a time when she would have searched for Riven among them, and the thought arrived unexpectedly. She could almost picture him there, leaning too far back on a bench while telling some exaggerated story that no one fully believed, but the image vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the empty space behind.

Eventually someone noticed her.

A woman seated near the entrance lifted a hand in greeting, and Eira returned the gesture. Another wolf shifted along the bench beside her to make room, offering an invitation that was subtle, kind, and uncomplicated.

No one told her to leave, looked away, or whispered behind her back. Several people nodded politely when their eyes met hers, while others returned to their conversations after only a glance.

Everything about the scene was ordinary, and that was what made it hurt, because she suddenly understood that the distance she felt no longer belonged entirely to them. Part of it belonged to her as well.

Weeks ago, she would have crossed the room, sat down, and forced herself into the conversation even if it felt awkward. Riven would have helped, Mara would have rolled her eyes at something, someone would have complained about training, and life would have continued as usual.

Now she found herself standing perfectly still, watching from a distance and feeling separated from it all by something she could neither see nor touch.

The invisible wall had not been built in a single day. It had appeared stone by stone, through a silence here, a hesitation there, a conversation that ended too quickly, or a glance that lingered too long. Somewhere along the way, Eira had stopped trying to cross it.

The realization settled quietly inside her, bringing neither anger nor grief, but only certainty.

A movement near the entrance drew her attention.

The woman who had shifted along the bench earlier was still waiting, still holding the empty space beside her with patient kindness.

Eira managed a small smile before shaking her head.

The woman seemed only slightly surprised, but a moment later she nodded in understanding and returned to her meal.

Eira stood there a little longer, long enough to memorize the sight before her: the firelight, the noise, the warmth, and the simple comfort of people sharing food at the end of a long day.

Then she turned away.

No one stopped her or called her name as the sounds of the hall followed her into the corridor and gradually faded behind her while she walked deeper into the fortress.

When the doors finally disappeared from view, Eira realized she would never eat another evening meal there again.

The thought should have broken her heart, yet instead it felt strangely peaceful, like the final page of a chapter she had already finished reading.