Chapter 6 Beyond the Ridge
Eira
The mountains changed gradually once Ironfang disappeared behind them.
At first, the road wound through familiar terrain—dark pines, exposed stone, and steep ridges crowned with snow. The fortress remained visible for longer than Eira expected, a dark shape carved into the mountainside that grew smaller with every turn until the trees finally swallowed it from sight.
Only then did she force herself to look ahead.
The patrol stretched along the narrow trail, horses moving at an easy pace while fresh snow drifted lazily through the air.
The weather had held, just as the forecasts promised, and the wind threaded its way through the pines in slow, steady currents, carrying the sharp scent of resin and cold stone.
For a time, no one spoke.
The rhythm of travel settled naturally over the group—the crunch of hooves on packed snow, the soft creak of leather, the occasional snort of a horse. Somewhere farther ahead, one of the riders began humming under his breath, the tune barely audible beneath the sounds of the forest.
Eira found herself grateful for the quiet.
The distance from Ironfang should have felt freeing, yet her thoughts remained stubbornly tangled.
She had spent most of the morning trying not to replay the conversation beside the stables, and so far the effort had been entirely unsuccessful.
Nothing has changed.
The words kept returning no matter how often she pushed them away.
Not because she believed them.
Because she didn't.
That was what made them so difficult to ignore.
Nothing about the night in her room had felt unchanged. Nothing about the way Soren had looked at her, or the way he had touched her.
And yet somehow they had ended up here anyway, separated by silence once more.
She let out a slow breath.
Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps she had mistaken desire for something deeper. The thought settled uneasily in her chest.
Before she could follow it any further, another horse drifted alongside hers.
Riven.
“You've been staring at the same tree for ten minutes.”
Eira blinked and glanced at him.
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous activity.”
She nearly rolled her eyes.
Riven looked far too pleased with himself.
“Careful,” he continued. “A few more hours of that and they'll start expecting wisdom from you.”
“From me?”
“Exactly. Expectations should remain realistic.”
A laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Riven's grin widened immediately.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“The person I've been trying to talk to since we left.”
“I've answered every question you've asked.”
“Yes, but only with one-word responses.”
“Maybe your questions weren't very interesting.”
A nearby rider barked out a laugh.
“She’s got you there.”
“Stay out of this,” Riven said without even turning around.
The hunter only laughed harder, and somehow that seemed to invite everyone else into the conversation.
By the time they reached the next rise, nearly half the patrol had joined in, with most of the attention focused on Riven—as expected.
“Careful, Commander,” one of the older hunters called. “Power changes people.”
“It already has,” another agreed solemnly. “I heard he made a horse apologize this morning.”
Riven pointed at him accusingly.
“That horse knew what it did.”
The resulting laughter echoed through the trees.
To her own surprise, Eira found herself smiling again.
Not because the jokes were particularly clever, but because she had forgotten how easy simple company could feel.
There were no expectations here, no politics, and no constant awareness of the bond waiting beneath every interaction.
For a few hours, there was only the road, the mountains, and a group of wolves enjoying one another's company.
Riven glanced toward her, the smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. There was something gentler beneath it now—not pity, and not concern, but a quiet satisfaction that seemed to come simply from seeing her drawn back into the conversation.
For reasons she couldn't fully explain, that affected her more than the jokes themselves.
She turned her attention toward the mountains instead.
As the road climbed higher, the landscape gradually opened around them, revealing distant peaks stretching toward the horizon. Snow covered most of them, bright beneath the pale afternoon light, while frozen rivers traced silver paths through the valleys below.
Eira had never been this far west.
In Frostvein, the mountains had always been spoken of as boundaries. They marked the edges of territory, the limits of safety, the places beyond which other packs began.
Ironfang spoke about them differently.
To Ironfang, mountains were roads.
Standing here, watching ridge after ridge unfold into the distance, she understood the distinction more clearly than she ever had before. What had once seemed like walls now revealed themselves as passages leading somewhere beyond sight.
The thought stayed with her as they continued west.
The world seemed larger here.
Not because the mountains themselves were larger, but because no one was telling her where they ended.
Eventually the trail curved around a rocky outcrop and emerged onto a broad overlook where the valley opened beneath them in a sweep of forest, frozen rivers, and distant snowfields fading into pale blue haze.
Riven lifted a hand.
“We'll stop here.”
The order traveled easily through the column.
Riders slowed, horses grateful for the pause after several hours on the trail. Some dismounted immediately. Others remained in their saddles, content to enjoy the view.
Eira slid from her horse and stepped toward the edge of the ridge.
The wind reached her first.
It carried a different scent here than it did around Ironfang. Less smoke. Less stone. Somewhere far below, hidden beyond forests and frozen valleys, she caught the scent of moving water strong enough to survive beneath winter's grip.
For a while she simply stood there.
The silence felt different outside the fortress.
As though thought could travel farther before encountering a wall.
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.
Simply loosen.
The mountains remained exactly where they had always been.
It was her understanding of them that had changed.
Behind them, one of the hunters called that they still needed another hour before sunset if they wanted to reach camp before dark.
The moment dissolved naturally.
Riven pushed away from the ridge and dusted snow from his gloves.
“Come on.”
He nodded toward the trail.
“If we stand here looking thoughtful much longer, people will start assuming we're interesting.”
A reluctant smile touched the corner of her mouth.
“That would be unfortunate.”
“Catastrophic.”
Together they returned to the waiting horses.
They made camp beside a frozen stream shortly before sunset.
The place had likely served as a stopping point for countless patrols before them. A shallow hollow between the trees offered shelter from the worst of the wind, while a ring of old stones marked where fires had burned through many winters.
By the time darkness settled over the mountains, several small fires were already glowing beneath the pines, and the patrol spread naturally around them as though everyone knew exactly where they belonged.
Some tended the horses while others unpacked provisions or checked equipment for the following day, and conversation drifted easily through the camp, rising and falling without any single voice trying to dominate it.
A place was made for her beside one of the larger fires before she could even decide where to settle.
Riven appeared carrying two wooden cups.
“You look cold.”
“I am cold.”
“Excellent.”
He handed her one of the cups and settled onto a nearby log.
“I've solved the problem.”
Steam curled from the dark liquid.
Eira raised it cautiously.
“What is it?”
“One of life's great mysteries.”
She took a careful sip.
The drink was hot enough to sting her tongue and throat before warmth spread through her chest, and beneath the heat lingered the taste of herbs, berries, and something stronger she couldn't quite identify.
“It's terrible.”
“Good,” Riven said. “That means it's working.”
A nearby hunter laughed.
“My grandmother used to make that.”
“Then your grandmother hated people.”
“She did.”
“That explains everything.”
More laughter followed, blending with the soft crackle of burning wood.