The ten wolves stood in a formation that felt like a wall between my current life and the next two months without Damar.
Their gray and mottled fur waved in the morning breeze, and their yellow eyes were fixed on the tree line, ears twitching with the restless energy of a long-distance run.
They were ready.
The packs strapped to their powerful frames were filled with dried meat and supplies, but they didn't carry the weight that was currently crushing my chest.
Damar stopped. He didn't look at the warriors. He didn't look at the village. He turned to me, his silver hair catching the light, and for a moment, he wasn't the cold navigator or the lethal snake man.
He was just… my husband.
"The wind is picking up," he said softly. "It's a good sign. It'll carry our scent away."
