Tara Runeweaver's Arc

Chapter 1 of 19

Tara Runeweaver pushed open the heavy doors of the longhouse and stepped into smoke and shouting. She came here most mornings hoping to catch the chieftain's eye, to measure how long he held it before turning away. Today he was not looking at her at all. He was looking at the wolf bleeding on his floor. A scarred gray beast lay sprawled near the stone podium of Thor, its flank torn open, its breath shallow. Warriors crowded close, hands on axes. One spat toward Tara as she entered. "If it dies under this roof," he growled, "the blame falls on your kind." The chieftain said nothing. He only watched her, jaw tight, waiting to see what she would do. Tara knelt beside the wolf. Her fingers found the carved pendant at her throat, a wolf's head ringed in old runes. She had worn it since she was a girl. She pressed it to the animal's bloody fur and let her breath slow. She spoke the words low, almost private. The runes on the pendant began to glow a soft red. Warmth moved from her palm into the wolf's side. The torn skin pulled itself shut. The breathing deepened. A warrior swore under his breath and stepped back. The wolf lifted its head, blinked its scarred eye, and licked her wrist. Tara did not smile. She looked up. The chieftain was already looking at her — and this time he did not turn away. He held her gaze for four long heartbeats. She counted every one. Then he crossed the floor and stopped close enough that she could feel the heat off him. He did not speak. He only stood there, near her, the way she had once let herself imagine. Something in the room had changed, and she knew she could not take it back.