The old wolf whose eyes already creased with wrinkles looked down at me, heartache plain on his face. His scent washed over me: mountain sage and old pine and the clean cold of high-altitude air after rain. It smelled like safety itself. "How's a little thing like you out here all alone with nobody looking after you?"
"Don't be scared, sweetheart. This old wolf will keep you safe."
I assumed his kindness was a passing impulse. I never imagined he would go on protecting me for years.
The year I pieced Soulreaper back together, I was nine.
I planned to make one last trip to the Sovereign Grounds and drag Fenris down with me, even if it killed us both.
But the night before I meant to leave, my master brought me a beggar's chicken. It wasn't particularly good.
He had no idea I was planning to go. He just scratched the back of his head, embarrassed, and said, "Lynara, you haven't been eating well lately. You're getting too thin. I went all the way down the mountain to learn this recipe from a famous cook in the valley."
"Go on, try it. If it's no good, I'll go back and learn again."
"And if you like it, I'll make it for you every single day."