Page 101 of Iron Beneath the Snow

But because, for a brief span of time, she had allowed herself to exist without restraint.

And that carried a danger of its own.

Chapter 27: Ash in the Morning Light

Eira

Morning after First Winter carried a kind of quiet that felt earned rather than heavy.

The hall still held the scent of smoke and roasted meat, but the fire had sunk deep into the stone, leaving behind only a lingering warmth. Voices moved more softly now, and even the busiest movements seemed measured, as if the night before had stretched something in the people here and the morning was simply allowing them to find their rhythm again. Ironfang did not treat celebration as something that required apology.

It absorbed it, and continued.

Eira stepped into the courtyard early, before most of the younger wolves had risen. Frost had already returned, tracing the edges of stone with a thin, silver film that would disappear within the hour. Whatever had lived in the hall the night before had no weight here. The mountain acknowledged none of it.

Her hair had been braided again.

More tightly than usual.

She only noticed when her fingers caught in the tension, and even then she didn’t loosen it.

A few early risers crossed the yard carrying water, their movements efficient and unremarkable. One of the elder women gave her a small nod as she passed—neither warm nor distant, but something steadier than before.

Two younger huntresses followed soon after, their path bringing them close enough to brush her sleeve.

“We heard you didn’t lose the rhythm,” one of them said, the tone light but not careless.

Eira glanced at her.

“I imagine you heard a version that suited the telling.”

The girl smiled, quick and unoffended.

“Riven doesn’t dance out of politeness.”

Her companion nudged her.

Eira let out a quiet breath.

“Then perhaps you were watching more closely than I intended.”

That earned a brief laugh, and the two continued on.

Eira watched them go for a moment.

Ironfang did not gossip the way Frostvein did. It didn’t soften conclusions or hide them behind courtesy.

It watched. And it remembered.

Near the lower steps, Riven stood with two of the hunters from the previous day. The leather at his shoulder had been repaired in a way that made no effort to conceal the damage, only to make it functional again. When he noticed her, he inclined his head once in acknowledgment.

He didn’t approach.

Didn’t hold her there with attention.

He let the moment remain exactly what it was.

The restraint steadied her more than any gesture would have.