Chapter Four: The Question He Didn't Finish
1081 Words
Daren remained with the pack for three days.
He slept in the guest shelter, a structure nestled beside the stone house, a good half of the clearing away from my own humble shed. I made no effort to seek him out, but his men emerged daily to draw water, chop wood, and tend to their horses. They moved with a quiet efficiency, bothering no one. Daren himself spent the majority of his time closeted within the stone house with Kael and Logan.
On the third evening, I was crouched outside my shed, meticulously spreading the last batch of herbs to dry. The sun hung low, casting long, thin shadows across the ground. Someone approached and stopped two paces away.
I looked up.
Daren stood there. He looked down at me—he didn't bend, didn't crouch, simply stood. Taller than his men by a head, his imposing shadow enveloped my entire herb spread.
"You're the human," he stated.
"Yes."
He regarded me for a while. Then, he crouched down. The movement sent a jolt of tension through my back—a large wolf crouching to your eye level was never a casual gesture. He was looking at me with purpose.
"You healed the boy's leg," he said. It wasn't a question.
"His leg healed."
"With herbs?"
"Yes."
He nodded slowly. His gaze drifted from my face to the herbs spread before me: thistle, wormwood, and a few others I wasn't sure he'd recognize. He studied them for a moment, then his eyes returned to mine.
"How long have you been here?"
"Almost three months."
"Three months," he repeated, as if weighing the words. "Three months, and you've managed to make an entire pack accustomed to you. That's… something."
I didn't know what to say. He stood up, brushed the dirt from his knees, and turned to walk away. Two steps, then he paused and looked back.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," he said. "If you want to go somewhere else, you can come with me."
Then he walked away, his strides long and unhurried, not waiting for an answer.
I remained crouched there, my knees pressing into the dried herbs, their brittle stems pricking my palms.
That night, I sat on the step outside my shed. The sky was a deep, starless black, the pack fire a distant glow. Daren's words tumbled over and over in my head. I picked them up, examined them, then set them down again.
Sera's salve sat beside me. Thor's knife was ready to be returned tomorrow. Mick's hide, left on my step, offered a comforting warmth beneath my knees.
The whole pack was here. The whole pack.
But I sat there for a long time before I finally went inside.
The next morning, Daren departed. I stood at the shed door and watched him mount his horse. He swung up with practiced ease, pulled the reins, and turned his head to glance in my direction. Just once. Then he rode out, his departure marked by the fading hoofbeats at the entrance, his tracks in the snow slowly being erased by fresh powder.
Logan crossed the clearing and stood beside me. He wasn't looking at my face—his gaze was fixed on the disappearing tracks.
"What did he say to you?" he asked.
"He asked how long I'd been here."
"And?"
"He said I could go with him."
Logan was silent for a moment. "Was anyone else around when he said that?"
"No."
Logan nodded, his expression unreadable. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He turned and walked away.
That afternoon, I was carrying a wooden basin to the well. As I passed the stone house, Kael emerged. We were less than five steps apart. He looked at me. I looked at him. Then he walked away. Nothing about it was different. Just like every other time.
But I knew Logan would have told him. The neighboring Alpha had invited me to leave with him. Kael knew. And he said nothing.
That evening, I crouched behind the shed, watering the thirsty ground. The wild onions had grown their third leaf, a vibrant green. Coren squatted nearby, Mick beside him, the three of us gathered around one small, hopeful patch. The skinny dog dozed a few feet away.
Sera called from across the clearing for Coren to come eat. He got up and ran off. Mick followed.
I stayed where I was, pulling my hand from the soil, brushing the mud from my palm. The sun was setting, the western clouds ablaze with orange, casting a small, warm patch across the snow.
Footsteps behind me. Light. I thought Mick had come back. I didn't turn.
"What did Daren say to you?"
I turned.
Kael was standing three steps behind me. His hands were at his sides. No crossed arms. No spinning knife. No posture of readiness. He just stood there, his face an unreadable mask.
"He asked how long I'd been here," I said.
"And?"
"He said I could go with him."
Kael was silent. He looked at the ground. At the wild onions. His eyes searched for something unseen.
Then he spoke. "What did you say?"
"I didn't say anything."
He paused. "Do you want to go?"
I thought about it—his eyes weren't on me. He was looking at my ground. Those slender green stalks, straight and still in the fading evening light.
"No," I said.
I crouched there, looking up at him. He stood over me, his gaze fixed on the green shoots. His brow was furrowed. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.
Then he turned and walked away.
I stayed where I was. The mud on my palms was drying, cracking into fine, intricate lines.
That night, I lay in the straw and laid everything out. Daren saying, "you can come with me." Logan asking, "was anyone else around." Kael asking, "do you want to go."
He'd asked the question. And after he asked it, he'd walked away without another word.
The whole pack was trying to keep me. Each person in their own way. Sera with salve. Thor with fish. Mick with hide. Even Grey had spoken up for me. Only Kael came to ask, "do you want to go," and when I answered, he left.
No "stay."
I tried to put that in the right shelf of my mind. I took it out again.
It wouldn't fit. It was too light. Like a breeze that passed and was gone.
- Writer
