Aela Darkwood's Arc

Chapter 19 of 22

They walked another hour off the road before Aela's legs stopped listening. She caught her boot on a root and went down hard on one knee. The forest tilted. Her wolf senses flared and then guttered, weak as a candle in wind. She hadn't hunted since her first shift. She hadn't eaten since dawn yesterday. Her body was burning fuel it did not have. Kalen was beside her before she could push up. He gripped her elbow. "You're empty." "I'm fine." "You're not." He looked at Lyra. "She'll drop before dusk." Lyra crouched and pressed two fingers under Aela's jaw. Her palm mark was warm against Aela's skin. "Pulse is thin. She needs meat and salt. Now." "We can't stop," Aela said. "The farmer—" "You reach the witch like this, you die in her yard." Lyra stood. "There's a village a mile east. I saw the smoke an hour back." Kalen shook his head. "People. Talk." "Hoods up. In and out. One hot meal." Lyra was already moving. "She fights tomorrow or she doesn't fight at all." They went east. The village was small. One street, one well, one building with light behind its windows. Stone walls, heavy wooden beams, a painted sign hanging over the door. The smell hit Aela before the door did. Roast meat. Bread. Onions in fat. Her mouth flooded so fast it hurt. Inside was dim and warm. Six tables, four of them empty. Kalen picked the corner farthest from the hearth. Aela sat with her back to the wall and her hood low over her ears. Her hands shook against the wood. A woman brought bowls without being asked — stew thick with mutton, brown bread, a wedge of hard cheese. Kalen paid in coin from Aela's purse and did not speak. Aela ate. She meant to be careful. She was not. She tore bread and dragged it through the stew and swallowed before she chewed. The heat spread down her chest and out to her fingers. The tremor in her hands eased. Her ears stopped ringing. The room came back into focus — the smoke stain on the ceiling beam, the scar over Lyra's eye, the dried blood still on Kalen's knuckles. Halfway through the second bowl she stopped and set the spoon down. Her body knew what to do with food again. Her mark had stopped itching. "Better," Lyra said. Not a question. "Better." Kalen was watching the door. "We've been here long enough." Aela wrapped the cheese and the last of the bread in a cloth and pushed it into her coat. She stood without holding the table. Her legs held her. That was new, and it was enough. Outside, the sun had shifted west. They had lost two hours. But Aela could feel her feet again, and the south road was still open, and whatever waited at the end of it would meet her standing up.