Riven had never been in a healer’s tent this long without restraints.
In the pit, “healing” had meant being chained to a wall and left to sleep off wounds that would have killed a weaker wolf. Sometimes the Maw had patched him in other ways — a whispered word, a pulse of cold through his veins — but it had never been about *him*. It had been about keeping the toy in working order.
Now he lay on a pallet stuffed with dried moss and feathers, a rough-woven blanket over his hips, the canvas above glowing faintly red with the light of the rising blood moon.
No chains.
No gag.
No one holding a knife and a spell over his head.
Just a circle of faintly glowing ward-marks etched into the ground around his pallet. A bored healer stitching up a cut on another wolf’s arm across the tent. The muffled sound of camp beyond — clatter of pots, murmur of voices, a pup’s short, excited yip.
And her.
Not physically.
Yet.
But in his head.
Juno’s presence was a warm knot at the edge of his awareness, moving slowly closer.
He could almost track her steps by the subtle shift in their bond — the way her scent strengthened, the way her wolf’s curiosity brushed his mind.
He’d taken to lying very still and just…feeling it.
It was the closest thing to meditation he’d ever done.
He didn’t know what to *do* with this bond.
Part of him wanted to lean into it. To wrap it around himself like a cloak against the cold that had seeped into his bones in the pit.
Another part wanted to dig his claws in and keep his distance, terrified of what attaching to someone again would mean. Of what it would do to them.
He *knew* what proximity to him did.
Death. Chains. Screams.
He’d spent three years telling himself that was all he was good for now.
Then she’d crashed into his world and shoved her hand through the bars.
And now…this.
He reached up, fingers brushing gingerly at his neck.
The scar was rough under his fingertips. Raised. Tender.
His wolf flinched from the touch, then pressed into it, like touching a sore tooth with his tongue.
It *hurt.*
And it felt…good.
He’d gotten so used to the phantom pressure of the brand — the constant awareness of something alien under his skin, coiled like a snake — that its absence was as startling as a ripped-out tooth.
He could breathe differently.
Deeper.
He hadn’t realized how much space the Maw’s presence had taken up in his head until it wasn’t there.
He missed it.
The thought slipped up, quick and poisoned.
He crushed it.
He didn’t miss *her.*
He missed the certainty. The clarity of *do this, or else.* The single line he’d been allowed to walk.
Now there were…many.
Too many.
*Complicated,* Juno’s voice murmured in his mind, as if she’d plucked that thought out before he could bury it.
He snorted softly. *Stay out of my skull,* he thought. *It’s a mess.*
*Same,* she said.
He heard the flap rustle.
Then she was there.
He almost didn’t recognize her for a second.
He’d only ever seen her in crisis mode — hair wild, eyes bright with adrenaline, body tense.
Now, in the dim, smoky light of the healer tent, freshly washed and dressed in a simple dark tunic and leggings, with her curls dragged into a loose knot on top of her head, she looked… younger.
Tired.
Real.
Her gaze scanned the tent, flicked briefly to the healer, then landed on him.
The bond surged.
So did his pulse.
*Down,* he told his wolf.
His wolf ignored him and wagged its metaphorical tail.
She hesitated at the edge of his ward-circle.
It wasn’t a cage.
Not really.
She could cross any time she wanted.
He wondered if she realized how much that mattered.
“You look like shit,” she said at last, because of course she did.
He huffed a laugh. “You said that already,” he replied. “You need new material.”
“I’ll work on it,” she said.
Silence fell, not quite comfortable, not quite awkward.
He gestured with two fingers. “Come on, then,” he said. “Get it over with.”
Her brow furrowed. “Get what over with?” she asked.
He shrugged, affecting nonchalance he didn’t feel. “The talk,” he said. “Where you tell me the council’s going to turn me into a weapon. Or a warning. Or mush.”
Her mouth twitched. “That’s…later,” she said. “Right now, Lysa just wants us to tell them what it felt like. From the inside.”
He made a face. “You’d think after last night everyone would be tired of being in my head,” he said.
“Apparently not,” she said. “You’re very popular.”
His lips quirked.
She stepped closer, studying the lines on the floor.
“Can I…?” she asked, nodding toward the circle.
He considered.
He could tell her *no*.
He had that right now.
The leash was gone.
He *could* set boundaries.
The idea was both exhilarating and terrifying.
He swallowed.
“If you want to,” he said. “I won’t…flare. I’ll keep…small.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to bite your own tongue every time I walk near,” she said. “I’m not…made of glass.”
He arched a brow. “You passed out twice in two days,” he said. “Forgive me for being cautious with the wolf whose skull is currently share-rented with mine.”
“Well, I’m very responsible,” she said. “So I’m cautious of *you*.”
“Responsible,” he repeated dryly.
She stepped over the chalk line.
The wards hummed faintly.
No sting.
No flare.
Just…warmth.
She sank down cross-legged beside his pallet, close enough that her knee brushed his elbow.
Heat shot through him.
He tried very hard not to look at the bare skin of her throat.
“How does it feel?” she asked quietly.
He swallowed. “Having you this close?” he said. “Dangerous.”
She flushed, color rising up her neck.
“I meant the scar,” she snapped.
He smirked. “So did I,” he lied.
She glared, but her lips twitched.
He sobered.
“Strange,” he admitted. “Like I’ve been walking with a backpack full of rocks for three years and someone finally cut the straps. I keep…reaching for the weight.”
She nodded slowly. “My mom died when I was nine,” she said quietly. “The first week, I would wake up and walk to their room and stand in the doorway and…wait. For her to breathe. I *knew* she was gone. But my body didn’t. It took…time.”
He looked at her.
Her jaw worked.
“It feels…like that?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Like that.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Do you…hear her?” she asked. “At all?”
He listened.
Not just with his ears.
In the way the air moved in his lungs. In the way his bones hummed.
There was…nothing.
No whisper.
No slick tendril.
Just his own thoughts, tangled as ever.
And hers.
*No,* he said, more to her mind than her ears. *She’s…far. For now.*
She let out a breath.
“Good,” she said. “One less uninvited guest in there.”
He chuckled.
“So,” she said. “The council.”
He grimaced. “You trying to ruin my mood?” he asked.
“I don’t have to,” she said. “Your life does that for you.”
He snorted.
Her gaze softened. “They’re going to ask questions,” she said. “About her. About the pit. About your…deal.”
He stiffened, instinctive.
She saw it.
Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach for him, then stilled.
“You can tell them to go to hell,” she said quietly. “If it’s too much. Lysa won’t force you.”
He laughed, bitter. “You give her too much credit,” he said. “If she thinks information in my head can keep her wolves alive, she’ll bleed me dry for it. And I’ll let her.”
Anger flared in her chest.
“At least you’re honest about how self-sacrificial you are,” she snapped. “That’s something.”
He blinked. “Self-sacrificial?” he echoed.
“Yes,” she said. “You *want* to die. Still. Don’t try to deny it.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
He thought about it.
Finally: “Less than before,” he said. “But…yeah. Part of me does. Not because I think it’ll fix anything. Just because I’m…tired.”
She exhaled slowly. “I get tired too,” she said. “You don’t see me throwing myself into pits.”
“You threw yourself into my cage,” he pointed out.
“That was different,” she said.
“How?” he asked.
She scowled. “Because,” she said. “It was *for* something. Not just…to escape.”
He studied her.
“You think there’s a difference?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said firmly.
He chewed that over.
Maybe she was right.
He hadn’t exactly had a noble cause when he’d walked into that cave three years ago and thought *I’ll do anything*.
He’d just wanted the hole in his chest filled.
Any way.
At any cost.
This…wasn’t that.
This was…fighting back.
Even if a not-insignificant part of him still thought dying in the process would be a relief.
She saw that too.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You promised me something,” she said. “Remember?”
He grimaced. “I promised to try,” he said. “Not to…succeed.”
“I’ll take the try,” she said. “But if you *ever* decide to go noble-sacrifice on me without my consent, I’ll drag you back from whatever afterlife you land in and kill you myself.”
He choked on a laugh. “Promise?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
Something in his chest eased.
Joking about death felt…strange.
Light.
He’d been half in love with it for years.
Now, with her knee warm against his arm and her eyes fierce, it seemed…less appealing.
He cleared his throat.
“Are you…okay?” he asked. “Aside from wanting to murder me for being melodramatic.”
She sighed. “Define—”
He glared.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m…unsteady. In here.” She tapped her temple. “Everything feels…louder. The bond. The pack. The mountain. I keep catching…echoes. Not of her. Of us. In the circle. It’s…a lot.”
Guilt pricked.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Stop apologizing,” she snapped. “You didn’t do it alone. I was there. I shoved just as hard. I said the words. I…bit. If anyone’s responsible for how weird my head feels, it’s me.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re very…possessive of your trauma,” he said.
“Same as you,” she shot back.
He couldn’t argue.
A shadow fell across the tent entrance.
Lysa ducked in, followed by Bram and Soren.
All three looked…washed out. Blood cleaned from skin, fresh clothes, but their eyes were ringed with fatigue.
“Time,” Lysa said. “The moon’s up. The others are waiting.”
Soren’s gaze flicked from Juno to Riven and back, mouth curving. “You two decent?” he asked. “Emotionally, I mean. Physically is clearly a lost cause.”
Juno rolled her eyes. “We’re fine,” she said.
Riven muttered something under his breath that might have been, “Define fine,” just to annoy her.
Bram snorted. “If you two start finishing each other’s sentences, I’m leaving,” he said.
Juno opened her mouth.
Riven deliberately thought, *Sandwiches.*
Juno choked on a laugh.
Lysa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Goddess give me strength,” she muttered. Then, more briskly: “Up. Slowly. If either of you passes out on the way, I will be…displeased.”
“Understatement,” Soren said.
Riven pushed himself up carefully.
His back protested.
His neck throbbed.
His head pounded.
But he was vertical.
Juno rose too, a little steadier this time.
They stepped out into the cool night.
The blood moon had climbed higher, red and round. Its light washed the camp in crimson.
The council met not in a tent but on a rocky outcrop overlooking the hollow, where the three alphas had stood to open the Gathering.
They’d pushed the table aside.
Tonight, they sat — for once — on the stone itself, in a rough triangle.
Lysa. Bram. Soren.
Around them, a handful of key wolves perched on boulders or stood: Corin, Irena, a Silver Peak beta, Bram’s second, and now Juno and Riven.
No one else.
The night wind cut across the ledge, cooling the sweat on Juno’s neck.
She felt suddenly exposed.
Not just physically.
Lysa motioned for them to sit on a flat stone opposite the triangle.
Close together.
Not touching.
The urge to shift so her fur could block the wind itched under Juno’s skin. She resisted.
“We’re not here to rehash every moment of the last three days,” Lysa began. “We all lived it. We all have bruises to remind us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Soren said. “Some of us are flawless.”
Bram grunted. “Your limp says otherwise.”
Soren smiled. “I limp with style.”
“Focus,” Corin said, exasperation threading through the single word.
Lysa’s mouth twitched. “We’re here to draw lines,” she said. “Before we break camp. Before we go back to our mountains.”
Her gaze swept them all.
“We bit a god,” she said simply. “That doesn’t end when the blood moon sets. She knows us now. Our scents. Our names. Our…shapes.”
“Which is exactly what I warned you about,” Irena muttered darkly. “Poking at things in the dark.”
“And if we hadn’t poked?” Lysa asked. “If we’d let her keep chewing on our borders? On our dead?”
Irena glared, then sighed. “I didn’t say don’t poke,” she grumbled. “I said poke smarter. You did. Mostly.”
“Is that a compliment?” Soren asked. “Should we write it down? It might never happen again.”
“Shut *up*,” Irena and Bram said in unison.
Juno’s lips twitched, despite the knot in her stomach.
Lysa turned to her and Riven.
“Tell us,” she said. “What did it feel like. When the leash broke.”
Juno swallowed.
She glanced at Riven.
He nodded slightly.
“We were…inside,” she said slowly. “Not…in our bodies. In the bond. In the…space…between us. Between her and him. Between…everything.”
Riven’s jaw flexed. “She had…hooks,” he said. “In him. In *me.* Everywhere. The brand was just…one. The deepest. When we bit…we didn’t just hit that. We hit…all of it. Or tried to.”
“It was like…ripping out a bramble,” Juno said. “Some roots…came. Some…stayed. But the main one…”
She gestured to his neck.
“…snapped,” she finished.
“You felt her,” Bram said. Not a question.
They both nodded.
“Anger,” Riven said. “Shock. Pain. Like…she’d never imagined *anything* could hurt *her*.”
Juno shuddered. “There was so much…there,” she said. “Not just her. Other wolves. Other…things. Deals. Threads. It was like…biting a web.”
“Can she regrow it?” Soren asked. “The root.”
“Not in him,” Irena said before they could answer. “Leashes can be replaced. But that *one*…is gone. Scarred over. She’d have to find a different…hold.”
“Like his mate,” Bram said grimly.
Juno’s stomach twisted.
Riven went rigid.
“She’d have to get through *me* first,” Lysa said, voice like steel. “Through *us.*”
The words hit Juno like a physical shield.
Her shoulders eased a fraction.
Riven blew out a slow breath. “She’ll try,” he said. “Maybe not…tomorrow. But she doesn’t like losing. And she’s…old. Patient. She’ll probe. From new angles.”
“Which brings us to the first line,” Lysa said. “When she does — and she will — we don’t face her as three separate packs. We face her as one mountain.”
Bram’s jaw clenched. “You’re talking formal alliance,” he said. “Oaths. Shared borders. Shared…kids.”
“Kids?” Soren echoed. “You going soft on us, Bram? Planning joint playdates for the pups?”
Bram glared. “I’m talking about the next generation,” he snapped. “They’re the ones who’ll be dealing with this long after we’re wormfood. We tie our packs together now, we don’t just share patrols. We share…futures.”
Juno’s breath caught.
The idea of pups — of any existence beyond this fight — felt…huge.
And impossibly far away.
Lysa nodded. “My thought exactly,” she said. “The Gathering of the Three stops being once a year. It becomes…ongoing. Rotating. Constant contact. We build a…stone circle…of our own. A place where our wolves can come and go. Train. Share. Watch the deep places.”
Soren’s brows rose. “A permanent camp,” he said. “Neutral ground.”
“Neutral ground above,” Lysa said. “Guard post against what’s below.”
Bram grunted. “Who runs it?” he asked.
“We all do,” Lysa said. “Together—or we take turns. Details later. Point is, no more pretending the cracks in the world respect borders.”
Juno’s mind spun.
A permanent shared base.
Wolves from all three packs living together.
Training together.
Her…mate…there.
The thought made something inside her twist.
Fear.
And…something else.
Soren stretched lazily. “I can get behind the idea of more frequent visits,” he said. “My wolves are getting bored with local prey.”
“Of course you’d think with your pants,” Bram said.
Soren smirked. “Someone has to.”
“Second line,” Lysa said loudly, cutting through the bickering. “Riven.”
All eyes turned to him.
He went very still.
“We can’t pretend you don’t exist,” Lysa said. “Mother Below knows you. She used you. Now, thanks to this mess, she also knows you *defied* her. That makes you…a target. And a thorn. And a very tempting prize for alphas who like shiny dangerous things.”
Soren raised his hand slightly. “For the record, I do like shiny dangerous things,” he said.
“Keep your hands off,” Lysa said without looking at him.
He put a hand over his heart. “You wound me,” he said.
“You’ll live,” she replied.
Bram’s stare bored into Riven.
“You’re not mine,” Bram said. “But you killed my wolves. You bit my enemy. I’ll be watching you. Hard.”
Riven met his gaze. “Understood,” he said.
“Silver Peak?” Lysa asked. “Thoughts?”
Soren’s eyes gleamed. “I want him on the mountain with us,” he said. “Sometimes. Under guard. Under…mentorship.” The last word was almost a purr. “He knows things we don’t. About the Maw. About…dark bargains. He could help us sniff out places she’s seeped into.”
“And if she tugs on him again?” Bram demanded.
“She can’t tug the same way,” Irena said. “Not on that root. That doesn’t mean she can’t…tempt. But that’s not about chains. That’s about choice.”
“Which is worse,” Bram muttered.
“I’m not putting him under another alpha,” Lysa said flatly. “I ripped that leash out. I’m not handing him a new one.”
Emotion flickered across Riven’s face.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d braced for someone to say: *You belong to me now.*
Lysa went on. “He stays, for now, under Pine Crest protection,” she said. “On *this* mountain. Where my wards are. Where my wolves are. Where Juno is.”
Heat climbed Juno’s neck.
She was suddenly acutely aware that every wolf in this circle could *smell* the spike in her heart rate.
Soren’s mouth curved. “Of course,” he said. “Keep the mated pair together. Good for stability. And drama.”
Bram grunted. “Your funeral if he snaps,” he said.
“If he snaps,” Lysa said calmly, “I’ll kill him myself.”
Riven’s throat worked.
He believed her.
He also believed she wouldn’t do it lightly.
A strange, painful…trust…twisted in his chest.
“And Juno?” Soren asked, eyes glinting. “Where does *she* go in this shiny new alliance? Besides ‘wherever he is’.”
Juno stiffened. “I am not his…appendage,” she snapped.
Soren’s lips twitched. “Never thought you were, stone wolf,” he said. “Just…checking we’re all clear.”
“Juno stays where she’s always been,” Lysa said. “On my mountain. In my pack. Now also tied by the gut to a wolf the Maw wanted and lost. That makes her…bait. And shield. Whether we like it or not.”
“Comforting,” Juno muttered.
Lysa’s mouth twitched, humorless. “You wanted to be useful,” she said. “Congratulations.”
Juno rolled her eyes.
Bram leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Third line,” he said gruffly. “Secrets. We don’t keep them about this. No more old wolves hoarding stories in caves. No more pretending the Maw is just a tale to scare pups. We share what we know. All of us. Or we’re dead.”
Irena winced like the words physically hurt her.
But she nodded.
“I’ll cough up every story my grandmother told me,” she said. “Even the ones I swore never to repeat. Might as well, before my bones turn to dust.”
“Likewise,” the valley elder murmured.
Soren grimaced theatrically. “I’ll have to tell you about the time I almost slept with a witch and she tried to carve a ward into my back mid-fuck,” he said. “That one’s…educational.”
Juno choked. “What?”
Bram groaned. “Spare us,” he said. “Please.”
Lysa closed her eyes briefly. “Later,” she said. “Right now, we stick to structural decisions. Juno. Riven. Can you both…live with this?”
She met each of their eyes in turn.
Juno straightened.
“Yes,” she said. “As long as ‘under Pine Crest protection’ doesn’t mean ‘locked in a silver box’.”
Riven swallowed.
Being told where he’d be had always been an act of domination before. A punishment.
This time…it was an offer.
A…place.
“Under your protection,” he repeated slowly. “Does that mean I…get a bed that isn’t moss on the floor? Or an iron wall?”
Lysa’s mouth quirked. “Don’t push it,” she said. “You get…a roof. For now. Near my wolves. Under Irena’s runes. With a door that opens from both sides.”
His chest tightened.
“A door,” he echoed. “Not a gate.”
“Exactly,” she said.
He let out a slow breath.
“I can…live with that,” he said.
Literally.
Maybe.
“Good,” Lysa said. “Then here’s what happens at dawn. The Gathering ends. Officially. We send the young ones home with their mated and their un-mated and their gossip. Bram and Soren take their wolves back to their valleys with the clear message that the Maw is no longer a myth, and that we bit her once and plan to bite again.”
Bram’s eyes glinted. “With pleasure,” he said.
Soren smiled. “My wolves will be…delighted,” he said. “They love new enemies.”
“Meanwhile,” Lysa continued, “Pine Crest does *not* go back to normal. We set up a permanent warded perimeter around this camp. We keep a rotating guard here. We start mapping the deep places she’s crawled into. And we start training…for the next bite.”
Bram grunted. “We’ll send wolves,” he said. “Scouts. Fighters. On rotation. You won’t be alone up here.”
“Same,” Soren said. “I have a few…specialists…who love caves. They’ll be…useful.”
Juno’s brows rose. “Specialists?” she asked.
Soren’s grin turned sharp. “You’ll like them,” he said. “They’re as weird as you.”
She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted.
“Questions?” Lysa asked.
Juno hesitated.
Then: “What about…mates?” she blurted.
All eyes turned to her.
Heat flooded her face.
“I mean—” She flailed. “When the packs go home. Mated wolves who…crossed packs this year. Where do they go? Who…goes with who? How does this…alliance…change that?”
Soren’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Ah,” he said. “The real reason you came up here. You want to know if you can keep your terrifying toy without leaving mommy.”
Juno glared. “Shut up,” she said.
Lysa’s gaze softened, just a fraction.
“In the old days,” she said, “mates always went to the male’s pack. No questions. No arguments. That changed. Slowly. Now we…negotiate. Case by case. We consider strengths. Needs. History.”
She held Juno’s gaze.
“In your case,” she said, “it’s simple. He has no pack. You do. He comes with you. If he wants to.”
Riven’s stomach dipped.
The idea of *belonging* anywhere again made his skin itch.
Belonging to *her* pack…
His wolf perked up.
*Yes,* his wolf said. *Den. Pack. Ours.*
His human side balked.
“I don’t…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I can…live…in a pack again,” he admitted. “Not the way I used to. Not…under anyone’s command the way I was under hers.”
Lysa nodded slowly. “I’m not asking you to pledge your life at my feet,” she said. “You’re not a pup. Or a prisoner. But if you want my mountain’s protection, you follow my laws. You respect my wolves. You don’t…walk into my cave and piss on the floor.”
Juno snorted.
Riven’s lips twitched. “I’m good at following rules when they’re…clear,” he said.
“Clear is what I do,” Lysa said. “We’ll figure it out. Slowly. You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”
Mira’s voice floated up faintly from below, shouting at someone to stop stealing her stew.
The sound grounded Juno weirdly.
Life, continuing. Amid all this.
“Okay,” Juno said softly. “Okay.”
The wind picked up.
The blood moon hung heavy.
Soren stretched and stood. “Well,” he said. “Now that we’ve made our grand oaths and plans and decisions, I propose we end this very serious council with something truly radical.”
Bram eyed him suspiciously. “What.”
“Food,” Soren said. “And maybe, just maybe, a song that isn’t about death.”
Lysa snorted. “You can sing about whatever you want,” she said. “I’m going to bed after I check the patrol logs.”
“Of course you are,” he said fondly.
The council broke.
Riven stood slowly, every muscle protesting.
Juno rose beside him.
They descended the rocky path back toward the tents.
The bond thrummed.
“So,” Riven said quietly, once they were out of immediate alpha earshot. “I’m…moving in with you.”
Heat shot up Juno’s neck. “That’s not—”
He smiled, small and genuine. “Kidding,” he said. Then, more serious: “Kinda.”
She huffed. “You’ll have your own space,” she said. “Probably near the sentry posts. With enough wards to fry you if you sneeze wrong.”
“Romantic,” he said.
She glanced at him sideways. “Do you…want…space?” she asked. “From…me.”
He considered.
Honesty seemed to be the theme of the night.
“No,” he said quietly. “And yes. I want…you. Close. That scares the shit out of me. I also want…distance. That hurts in a different way.”
Her heart stuttered.
“Same,” she admitted.
They walked in silence for a few paces.
“Maybe we take it…slow,” she said. “Even the bond. We don’t have to…jam it all the way open every time we’re in the same room.”
“You say that like we have a dimmer switch,” he said dryly.
She elbowed him. Gently.
“We can…learn,” she said. “Set…rules. For ourselves. Boundaries. Like…no poking each other’s nightmares after midnight.”
His mouth twitched. “No listening in when someone’s thinking about you in the bath,” he agreed.
Heat flared in her cheeks. “I have not—”
He arched a brow.
She scowled. “You’re impossible,” she muttered.
“Truth,” he said.
They reached the edge of camp.
The smells of food and smoke washed over them.
For the first time in a long time, Riven’s stomach growled loud enough for someone else to hear.
Juno’s lips curved.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s feed the beast. Before Mira decides you look good in a stew.”
He laughed.
And for a moment, under the red moon and the watchful eyes of wolves and gods, it almost felt like they were just two people walking toward dinner, tangled future or not.
Slow burn or not.
The next fire, they both knew, was already waiting.
But tonight, there was meat on the spit.
Friends at the fire.
And a mountain under their feet that had, if only for a little while, stopped shaking.
---