The tent smelled of medicinal herbs and old canvas.
Violet sat on a low stool, one hand pressed gingerly against her throat. The bruises were already darkening—five distinct shadows where Kael's fingers had gripped.
Vael sat across from her, legs crossed, jaw swollen on one side. He kept touching it with careful fingers, wincing each time.
Neither spoke.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—just heavy. Like snow accumulating on a roof before it slides.
The tent flap burst open.
Eivor stumbled in, face flushed, breathing hard. "Where in the frozen hell were you?"
Violet blinked. "I—"
"Do you have any idea what it's been like being the only human here while you disappeared?" He threw his hands up. "They look at me like I'm either prey or poison. Some of them growl when I walk past. *Growl*. Like I'm a piece of meat they're deciding whether to eat now or later."
He collapsed onto the ground beside them, rubbing his face.
"If Kael hadn't vouched for me, they would've thrown me in a cage. An actual cage, Violet. With bars and everything."
Violet's shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"Of course you didn't mean to." Eivor pulled a small clay jar from his satchel. "But here we are anyway."
He uncorked it. The sharp scent of willow bark and something astringent filled the space.
"Hold still," he muttered, dabbing ointment onto Violet's neck with surprising gentleness. His hands were rough from smithing, but his touch was careful. "This'll sting."
It did.
Violet hissed but didn't pull away.
Vael watched, ears flattened against his skull. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "About my father. He—"
"I understand," Violet interrupted. Her voice was hoarse. "He was protecting his people. From his perspective, I'm a threat."
Eivor moved to Vael next, pressing salve against the swelling on his jaw. "You both talk like you're forty winters old instead of... what, twelve? Thirteen?"
"Fourteen," Vael corrected.
"Whatever." Eivor sat back. "Point is, you talk like adults. Especially you." He gestured at Violet with the jar. "Your words, your bearing, the way you carry yourself—it's not normal for someone your age."
Vael nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. "I noticed it too. From the beginning. You move through the world like someone who's already seen it end once."
Violet looked down at her hands.
Silence stretched.
Then she glanced up, meeting their eyes, and smiled—small and mischievous.
"It's because I'm cursed."
Both boys stiffened.
"I was cursed to remain a child forever," she said, voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm actually over a thousand years old."
Eivor's face went pale.
Vael's ears shot upright, tail going rigid.
"A... thousand?" Eivor breathed.
Violet nodded solemnly. "I've walked the earth for ten centuries. I've seen empires rise and fall. I've forgotten more languages than you'll ever learn. I've—"
She couldn't hold it.
A laugh burst out of her—sharp and bright, doubling her over.
Eivor exhaled explosively, pressing a hand to his chest. "You—you absolute menace! I thought—gods, you shouldn't joke like that!"
But Vael didn't relax.
His eyes stayed fixed on Violet. "You didn't lie."
Violet's laughter faltered. "What?"
"You didn't lie." Vael's voice was quiet but certain. "I can smell lies. Always could. When someone speaks falsely, it's like... sour milk. Wrong. But you..."
He leaned forward slightly.
"When you said you were cursed, When you said you were over a thousand years old..." He paused, nose twitching-
The tent felt smaller.
Eivor looked between them. "What's he talking about?"
Violet opened her mouth.
The tent flap opened again.
Kael stood in the entrance, face carved from stone. "The scout returned. The Princess's army is moving faster than expected. They'll reach the Valley in two days."
Violet stood immediately. "Don't panic. But you need to make a choice now. Fight or flee."
Kael's jaw worked silently.
Then, quietly: "Flee."
The word fell like a stone into still water.
"For me," he continued, voice rough, "the lives of my tribe are worth more than any concept of honor."
***
The Maari traitor Direwolf heard everything.
He had been lingering near the tent—close enough to catch words through canvas. Now he stepped forward, face twisted with rage.
"Coward!" His voice rang across the encampment. "The Da'ar disgraces us! He would flee like a whipped dog!"
Heads turned.
Wolves emerged from tents.
Within moments, a crowd formed—Ma'ar, elders, warriors, all drawn by the accusation like iron to lodestone.
Bara pushed through—the massive polar bear Beastkin who had fought Kael for leadership. His bulk parted the crowd like a boulder through snow.
"Is this true?" he demanded. "Would you run?"
Kael met his eyes. "Yes."
Murmurs rippled outward.
"And the human girl?" the traitor spat. "Does she whisper poison in your ear?"
"She has nothing to do with this," Kael said firmly. "This is my choice alone."
Maari laughed—harsh and bitter. "Of course it's her doing! Humans flee with tails between their legs. Beastkin fight with honor. We die with honor. That is our way!"
Voices rose in agreement.
Kari stepped forward—the snow leopard Ma'ar, lean and sharp-eyed. "If your Direwolves would run, then the Snow Leopards will void our collaboration. We fight alone."
Bara crossed massive arms. "The Bears stand with honor. Not with cowards."
Kael's fists clenched. "The lives of your children—"
"Mean nothing if they live in shame," Bara interrupted. He stepped closer, towering over even Kael. "Honor is not a cloak you wear when convenient. It is the marrow in our bones."
His voice dropped.
"I thought you understood that."
Then he struck.
The blow was open-handed but devastating. Kael's head snapped to the side. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Coward," Bara said quietly.
He turned and walked away.
The crowd began to fracture.
Some Direwolves followed Bara, faces hard with judgment. Others stayed near Kael, uncertain. Still others looked between the two groups, caught in the space between survival and shame.
Kael stood in the center of it all, blood on his lip, eyes on the sky.
"Vael," he said.
His son appeared at his side immediately.
Kael led him to a bonfire at the camp's edge. The flames cast dancing shadows across his face.
"Take everyone who wants to flee," Kael said. "Lead them to safety. You know the northern route—the one we used when we were hunted three winters ago."
Vael's eyes widened. "But—"
"I will stay." Kael's voice was final. "I will do my duty as Ma'ar and fight. But those who choose life over honor—they may go. I gave no one their breath, and I have no right to demand they sacrifice it for mine."
Murmurs spread through the watching crowd.
"Those who wish to live," Kael raised his voice, "may leave without shame. I will not call you coward. The choice is yours."
Slowly, reluctantly, groups began to form.
Some warriors stayed—younger males with something to prove, older warriors who had nothing left but honor.
But others moved toward Vael—mothers with children, elders too frail to fight, adolescents who had already lost too much.
The Direwolf clan fractured before their eyes.
***
Dawn came cold and pale.
The fleeing party gathered at the valley's edge—perhaps three hundred souls. Mostly noncombatants. A handful of warriors who chose to protect them rather than die gloriously.
Similar groups from other tribes joined them—mothers, children, wounded, those who had already buried enough family.
No one came to see them off.
The camp behind them was silent—not the silence of sleep, but of judgment.
Violet stood among the refugees, small and pale.
An elderly she-wolf approached, carrying a bundle of furs wrapped around a sleeping infant. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
"They call us cowards," she whispered.
Violet looked up at her. "Choosing to live when death seems easier—that takes more courage than any blade."
The woman's breath hitched.
"You have something others don't," Violet continued gently. "You have a choice. Not everyone survives long enough to make it. Don't waste it on shame."
The woman pressed the infant closer and nodded.
A horn sounded.
Sharp. Clear. Urgent.
Every head turned south.
On the horizon, like a dark stain spreading across clean snow, the army appeared.
Thirty thousand strong.
Banners snapping in the wind.
Steel glinting even in weak dawn light.
The earth itself seemed to tremble beneath their march.
Violet's hands clenched.
"Move," she said. "Now."
The refugees prepared themselves,
Behind them, the camp erupted into motion—warriors donning armor, shamans chanting prayers, commanders shouting orders.
The horn sounded again.
Closer this time.
The snow began to fall.
And the world held its breath before the storm.