Mira
Mira had been taught that presentation mattered.
Dignity. Poise. Order.
The outer ridge had none of those things.
The wind cut sharper there. The homes leaned instead of stood. Chimneys smoked thinly, as if even fire had grown cautious.
She arrived with two guards and a cart of blankets, grain, and dried meat. Wolves bowed as she passed, but not with the proud lift of a strong pack. This was gratitude edged with desperation.
She knelt to hand a loaf of bread to a woman whose hands trembled as she accepted it.
“Thank you, my lady,” the woman whispered.
Mira’s throat tightened.
This should not feel like charity.
It should feel like governance.
A small boy stood nearby holding a flour sack too large for his arms. His eyes were wide, cheeks hollow beneath wind-burned skin. He s
