Edrin's mind raced. He could feel time narrowing, like a noose.
He made a decision.
He stepped out from behind the pine, letting the wind carry his scent.
He moved just enough to be seen.
The wildling's head snapped toward him.
Edrin met his gaze and then turned and ran-fast, but not too fast, letting them think they could catch him.
He heard a shout. Heard feet pounding.
They chased.
He led them toward the rock slope above the valley, where he'd prepared the rocks.
He reached the spot, climbed, fingers digging into frozen earth, and then—
A spear whistled past his ear.
Close.
He pushed himself up and rolled behind a boulder.
The wildlings came scrambling after him, eager, mouths open, shouting.
Edrin waited until three of them were below the rock pile.
Then he kicked.
The rocks tumbled down, heavy, unstoppable.
One wildling screamed as a stone took his leg. Another went down under the avalanche, skull cracking.
The rest scattered, yelling.
Edrin leapt from behind the boulder and drove his knife into the nearest man's throat.
Blood sprayed.
The wildling's eyes widened, shocked. He hadn't expected prey to bite back.
Edrin's body moved on instinct now, Awareness guiding him.
He cut. He dodged. He slipped on snow and caught himself.
He felt a blow glance off his ribs, pain flared.
A wildling swung a club. Edrin ducked.
Rowan appeared out of nowhere like a ghost and drove an arrow into a man's eye.
The wildling dropped, twitching.
Edrin's breath came ragged.
There were still too many.
Six left. Maybe seven.
They were circling now, smarter, wary. One shouted something and another lifted the horn.
Edrin's blood went cold.
If that horn sounded, it called others. It called the main band. It called death.
He moved.
He threw himself at the horn-bearer with a kind of reckless fury that felt almost joyful in its ugliness. The modern part of him screamed that this was stupid. The part of him screamed that if he hesitated, he died.
The horn-bearer raised his weapon. Edrin drove his shoulder into the man's chest, knocked him back, grabbed the horn and smashed it against a rock.
It shattered.
The wildling roared and tried to gut him. Edrin felt the blade slice his side, hot pain.
He didn't stop.
He drove his knife up into the man's armpit, where fur and leather gaped.
The wildling choked.
Edrin pulled free, panting, blood slick on his hands.
He heard Rowan shout, sharp, angry.
He turned and saw her down on one knee, a wildling over her with an axe raised.
Edrin moved without thinking.
He grabbed a rock and threw it.
It hit the wildling's elbow. The axe wavered.
Rowan took the chance and slashed his calf, then his throat.
Edrin stumbled, breathing hard.
The wildlings hesitated now.
They looked at their dead.
They looked at Edrin, bloodied but standing.
They looked at Rowan, arrow nocked, eyes like ice.
And then they did what hungry animals did when prey turned dangerous.
They fled.
Not all. Two tried to drag a wounded companion.
Rowan shot one in the back.
The other abandoned the body and ran.
Silence fell again.
Edrin stood shaking, blood running down his side.
Rowan came to him, breathing hard, and for the first time she looked almost… impressed.
"That was…" she started.
"Stupid," Edrin said.
Rowan barked a laugh. "Yes," she agreed. "But it worked."
Edrin swayed.
Rowan caught his arm. "You're bleeding," she said.
Edrin looked down and saw the cut along his side, deep enough to matter.
He felt dizzy.
He laughed weakly, a harsh sound. "Yeah," he said. "That's… that's new."
Rowan tightened her grip. "Come on," she said. "Back to the cabin."
Edrin nodded and let her half-drag him.
As they moved, he glanced south again, toward where Hollow had been.
In the distance, no new smoke rose.
Not yet.
But he could feel it. The inevitable.
They had won this skirmish, bought time.
But time was not peace. Time was just another currency.
And he was spending it fast.
Back at the cabin, Lysa ran to them, eyes wide with terror.
She saw the blood and went pale. "Edrin--"
"I'm fine," Edrin lied.
Rowan snorted. "He's not fine," she said. "But he's alive."
Lysa helped them inside. Tym and Jory stared at Edrin like he was a story made flesh.
Edrin sat by the fire box, teeth chattering.
Lysa pressed cloth to his wound, hands shaking. "Why," she whispered, voice breaking. "Why is this happening?"
Edrin stared at the flames.
Because the world didn't care.
He didn't say any of that.
He said, "Because we're here," and it was the only answer that mattered.
Lysa's tears fell silently onto his skin.
Rowan watched the door, knife ready.
Tym and Jory stood close, breathing fast, eyes bright.
And Edrin.....Edrin felt the foothold deepen, not in earth, but in people.
They were looking at him differently now.
Not just attention.
Belief.
Belief was more dangerous than loyalty. Loyalty could be bargained. Belief could burn villages.
He swallowed, tasting blood and smoke.
All right, he thought, modern and tired and grim. If they're going to believe in something, it might as well be something real.
Outside, the wind gnawed at the walls.
Inside, the fire crackled.
And somewhere out in the Gift, a larger hunger turned its face toward them, scenting change.