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While the rules aren’t written, and there’s no oath to take, everything about our training revolves around promoting health and individual life forces. We relocate animals to places they can roam freely without human interference, we shift predator populations so they’re not vying for the same resources, and we heal wounds so they don’t fester, putting animals down when necessary so they don’t suffer.

Ahead of us, the wolf barks once. Whether a warning or a question, it provides an excuse to venture away from Agnar. The canine lingers at a fork in the trail, his head cocked as he awaits direction.

This is the third time we’ve reached this particular junction. I’ve led us in a wide loop, doubling back on our own path, working to create a maze of false trails that will confuse any attempt by Agnar to retrace our steps. Veradin taught me the trick years ago.

Never take a direct route to anything that matters. Make the journey itself the protection.

I study both paths, struggling to remember which one we took last time. My confidence wavers. Things that usually come second nature require so much more thought when hauling a captive, especially a distracting one who enjoys crawling under my skin.

The left fork leads down toward a river we crossed yesterday. Or was that two days ago? The right fork climbs higher, toward the ridgeline where the wind cuts cold even in spring.

“Are we lost?” Agnar feigns innocence, craning his neck left and right as if he can see through the blindfold.

I peer between the paths, my mind churning with possible routes as anxiety that we are, in fact, lost churns my stomach. “No.”

“You’re doing that thing where you chew your bottom lip. You often do that when you second-guess yourself.”

I yank my hand away from my mouth.

Once again, I debate the pros and cons of bringing him along. “I’m not second-guessing anything. I’m simply considering the best path forward. And how would you know what I do when I think? You’re blindfolded.”

“I can still hear. You make a distinct noise when you’re uncertain…this little intake of breath followed by silence that goes on for about three seconds too long.”

I hate that he’s right.

Most of all, I hate how his attention unfurls an odd, traitorous warmth in my chest. Who else has ever noticed such little things about me? No one I can remember. Not until him. I don’t know what to do with this, so I end up squirming and basking in it at the same time.

I choose the right fork even though I’m almost certain the left fork is the safer choice. We climb.

The path grows steeper and rockier, requiring me to touch Agnar more as I navigate him over obstacles. Each occurrence is a small electric shock. Every time his breath quickens, my own pulse answers. As much as I loathe how he fixates on me, I’m doing the exact same thing to him.

But only because I have to. If he were on a mount, I could simply guide him, and that would be so much easier.

I grit my teeth. Soon, this will all be over, and I’ll never have to deal with Agnar again. That’s what I want. Isn’t it?

As we climb, a strange sadness hits me again. While barely more than a whisper at the edge of my awareness, the distant feeling makes my head throb and my stomach twist. I’ve been experiencing this floating grief that doesn’t belong to me on and off for days.

Lost in a wave of foreign emotions, I stumble on an uneven spot.

Agnar catches me, his bound hands gripping my elbow with surprising gentleness. “You all right?”

I pull away, hating that I believe his concern is genuine, despite everything. “Fine. Just tired.”

We walk until dusk paints the sky crimson and gold and crickets come out to cry among the rocks. The dire wolf sticks closer, keeping watch on threats I can’t see.

The air smells of pine and stone and the first night flowers opening in the shadows. In the late afternoon, we cross the river again, where snowmelt runs fast and clear over smooth stones. I hold Agnar’s arm tighter than necessary during this endeavor. If he falls in, I don’t want to have to dive in to save him.

He lets me direct him, his feet finding purchase on the water-splattered boards with ease. “I know this is the same bridge we crossed earlier, in case you were wondering if your strategy was working.”

I relax my shoulders to quash the shaking in my hands and project certainty. “These mountains contain multiple rivers and dozens of bridges. This could be any of those.”

Agnar kicks a foot to the side, hitting a large stone at the edge of the bridge. “Maybe, but this one has a distinctive gurgle where the water wore a hole in a rock. Also, the third plank in squeaked and shifted from a loose peg. The same thing happened earlier. We crossed this exact spot going the other direction this morning.”

Show-off.

I want to shove him in the river myself now and let the current carry him away or tell him he’s wrong, disoriented, and confused by days of walking while blindfolded. But the words stick in my throat because we both know the truth. “You’re wasting your effort. Even if you mapped every step, there are spells protecting this place. You would walk in circles until you careened off a cliff.”

He nods once, that smirk on his lips again. “Noted.”