The fire had burned down from a lively crackle to a steady, patient heat. Fat still hissed now and then as it dripped from the boar's thigh onto the coals, sending up thin curls of smoke that smelled like salt, grease, and survival. The river behind them kept talking, soft, constant, uncaring, washing away blood and washing away guilt like it knew neither mattered.
Kael sat with his back against the boulder, the stone cool through his spine even with the fire at his knees. The training rings on his wrists and ankles felt like polite shackles, present in every movement, heavy in a way you only notice when you stop moving. He'd eaten slower than her at first, not from manners, but from habit.
