Chapter 5: Borrowed Hours
929 Words
The second day of negotiations had dragged like a wounded beast—slow, tense, and full of teeth.
Marek had endured hours of talk that went nowhere. The Pooka refused to name a single demand plainly, and the wolves had no patience left for riddles. His father spoke less today, and Fenric more. That alone was enough to put Marek on edge.
By the time the sun dipped low, Marek slipped away again. He didn’t ask permission.
Now he sat once more in the woods, warmth stretching across the clearing like a lazy cat.
Raven hadn’t looked surprised to see him. Neither had her friends Dain and Nara. As if they’d all known he would come.
Dain kept the mood light with wild stories—half of which Marek suspected were made up, but they were told with such conviction it didn’t matter. At one point, Dain pulled a gold coin from his pocket and flipped it high into the air, caught it without looking, and grinned.
“Luck’s still with me,” he said.
Nara rolled her eyes. “You always say that.”
“That’s because it’s always true.”
Raven leaned toward Marek and whispered, “He’s been flipping that coin since I’ve known him. Says it’s a charm. Or a curse. Depends on the day.”
Marek watched the way Dain rolled it across his knuckles, light glinting. “Where did he get it?”
Raven’s voice was quieter now. “He never says. Only that someone gave it to him before everything went wrong.”
Marek hadn’t spoken this much in months.
The sun tilted well past its peak as they lingered, warmth stretching across the clearing like a lazy cat.
Before Marek could ask what that meant, Dain was up again, chasing Nara through the trees after she stole the last of the sweetroot. Their laughter rang through the forest like birdsong.
And then it was just the two of them.
Raven sat cross-legged by the fire, arms braced behind her, eyes half-lidded. “You stayed longer than I thought you would.”
Marek didn’t answer right away. He was still watching where the others had vanished between the trees, as if leaving this place might undo something delicate.
“Your world is…different.”
She snorted. “That’s a very polite word for ‘wild.’”
“It’s not an insult.”
She turned to him fully then. “So why are you really here, Marek Emberfang?”
“I told you—”
“No.” Her tone sharpened. “Don’t feed me lines. You’re not that boring.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Because when I’m here, I don’t feel like someone else’s idea of who I’m supposed to be.”
That made her go still.
He glanced at her. “Is that… ridiculous?”
“No,” she said, softly. “It’s honest. Which is rare. Especially for a wolf.”
A pause. The kind that opens like a doorway.
“You could stay,” she said.
Marek’s breath caught. “I can’t.”
“You won’t,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”
He looked away. The fire crackled between them.
“You’re brave,” he said finally.
“No,” Raven whispered. “I’m just not afraid of the truth.”
Then—lightly, like it was nothing—she reached out and touched his hand.
He didn’t pull away.
They were still sitting like that when the first snap of a branch echoed behind them.
Marek was on his feet in a blink, instinct flaring. He caught the scent before the figure emerged—wolf, male, older.
Fenric.
“Well,” Fenric drawled, stepping into view, “look at this. The Emberfang heir and his little fire sprite.”
Raven rose beside Marek, calm but unreadable. Marek could feel the tension bleeding off her in waves.
“Go back to camp,” Marek said evenly.
“Oh, I will,” Fenric said, gaze flicking to Raven. “But first, I think we should talk about what happens when the wrong people find out how much you’re enjoying your…walks.”
“You followed me.”
Fenric smirked. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”
He turned without waiting for a reply, disappearing back through the trees.
Marek didn’t move. His hands were clenched at his sides, jaw tight.
Raven’s voice was low. “That one’s going to burn something down.”
Marek looked at her, chest hollow. “He might not be the only one.”
Marek didn’t speak for a long moment after Fenric vanished.
The breeze shifted, carrying the smell of ash from the summit fires, distant now but pulling at something in his chest. He couldn’t stay here. Not without consequences. Not without choosing.
“I should go,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him then, brows drawn—serious in a way she hadn’t been earlier. “You should decide what you came here for, Marek. Before someone else decides for you.”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
But as he turned to go, she reached out—light as breath—and brushed her fingers just barely across his.
Not a grasp. Not a kiss.
Just a touch. A moment suspended.
We are not enemies, her silence said.
Not yet.
Then Marek left the clearing and headed back to his people, the wild hush of the forest clinging to his skin.
Behind him, the fire crackled low, and somewhere unseen, a gold coin spun once more through Dain’s fingers.
- Writer
