The seventh and final sunrise passed over the hovel. I lay on the packed-earth floor, breathing in short, uneven pulls. The evidence was gone, my part was finished, and I only had to wait.
The cold had spread through my chest and into every breath. I no longer had enough strength to pull the blanket back over my shoulder when it slipped.
When the door opened, I expected Elara returning to gloat or a warrior sent to collect my body before the Luna ceremony.
An old stray entered instead, small and stooped beneath layers of ragged wool. Wrinkles crossed her face, her eyes were pale as the winter sky, and she smelled of woodsmoke and dried herbs.
She knelt without asking who I was and laid a rough, warm hand on my forehead. There was no pity in the touch, only care.
“Cold, little one,” sh
