The decision came with the first light.
Elara stood at the edge of the upper stockade as the sky shifted from black to pale gray. The river below ran quiet and clear. Smoke rose in thin lines from the early fires. Somewhere near the horse line a young wolf yipped once and was answered by a deeper growl that settled it. The outpost was already waking.
Felix found her there, two cups of tea in his hands. He offered her one without speaking. The bitter scent mixed with the cold morning air.
"I'm staying through the next full moon," she said. "The southern healers still need the last of the packing methods, and Maara wants to walk the high trails once more before the leaves turn. After that I'll go north."
Felix nodded. "Then I'll stay too."
No argument. No persuasion. Just the quiet acceptance that had become their pattern.
