Chapter 1 - Where the Alphas Depart
Eamon had written the list three times.
The first had been practical. Hinges. Nails. Barrel bands. Knives. Cooking hooks. Storage fittings. Latches. Tool repairs. Iron straps for the longhouse doors. Reinforcements for the drying racks. A better fastener for the smokehouse vent because the current one rattled badly enough to offend anyone with ears.
The second list had been organized by urgency.
The third was the one he held now, because Nora had looked at the second list and said, “This is too many words for iron.”
“Specificity prevents mistakes,” Eamon had replied.
“Specificity makes it sound like you’re planning to supervise the blacksmith into an early grave.”
So he had rewritten it again.
Morning moved around him in brisk, purposeful pieces. Pack members crossed the clearing with bundles, messages, last questions, and unnecessary advice. The council summons had come three days ago, formal enough to be irritating and vague enough to be dangerous. Nora had read it once, handed it to Brooks, then announced she would go because ignoring the council only worked until the council decided to become interesting.
Brooks had said nothing.
His expression had said enough.
Now both Alphas stood near the edge of the clearing, packs ready, cloaks fastened, weapons carried more from habit than expectation. They were leaving before the sun climbed high enough to warm the ground.
Eamon checked the list again.
“You’ve read that ten times,” Nora said.
He looked up. She stood a few paces away, wrapped in a dark cloak, her hair still damp from the creek and her eyes too sharp for someone who claimed to hate mornings shaped by other people’s decisions.
“Nine,” Eamon said. “The first time doesn’t count. I was confirming the handwriting.”
Her mouth twitched. “Was it yours?”
“Unfortunately.”
Morsel sat between them, tail sweeping the dirt in slow, hopeful arcs. He had planted himself where everyone had to walk around him, as if departure could be delayed by inconvenience. Every few breaths, he glanced at Nora’s travel pack, then at Brooks, then back at Nora with deep suspicion.
Nora followed his gaze and sighed. “No.”
Morsel’s tail stopped.
“You are not coming,” she said. “You would cause a diplomatic incident.”
Brooks approached in time to hear that. “Several, probably.”
Morsel turned his betrayed stare on him.
Brooks looked down at the dog with solemn gravity. “You once stole an entire roasted pheasant from an Alpha’s plate.”
Morsel wagged once, faintly proud.
“That was your plate,” Nora said.
“An Alpha’s plate,” Brooks repeated. “My statement stands.”
Eamon folded the list carefully to hide his smile. The pack had learned not to laugh too loudly when Nora was trying to remain stern with Morsel. It only encouraged both of them.
Nora crouched and caught Morsel’s face between her hands. “You stay with Eamon.”
Morsel leaned forward and licked her chin.
She allowed it.
Of course she did.
Eamon looked away before the softness in the moment could become something he was not meant to witness.
Nora noticed anyway.
She always did.
“Walk with me,” she said.
Eamon fell into step beside her as she moved toward the tree line, away from the busy center of the clearing. Morsel began to follow, then Brooks caught his collar gently and murmured something low enough that even Eamon pretended not to hear.
Nora did not go far. Only beyond the first screen of trees, where the voices became muffled.
She stopped beside an oak with old claw marks down one side.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Eamon waited.
He had learned that with Nora. Silence was not always empty. Sometimes it was where she put the things she could not say quickly.
She looked back toward the clearing. “We’ll be gone at least a week.”
“I know.”
“Maybe two,” she added. “Depending on how stubborn the council decides to be.”
“So two.”
That earned him a brief glance. “Probably.”
The humor faded almost as soon as it appeared. Nora folded her arms beneath the cloak, not defensively, but as if she needed somewhere to put her hands.
“I don’t like leaving,” she said.
Eamon kept his voice even. “No.”
“I don’t like giving them that much of my time.”
“No.”
“And I especially don’t like that they know I’m coming because they summoned me.”
“I doubt anyone will mistake your attendance for obedience.”
She huffed softly. “They might. Briefly.”
“Then Brooks can look disappointed in them until they correct themselves.”
This time, her smile lasted.
Finally, she turned fully toward him.
“I’m not worried about the pack,” she said.
The words landed with unexpected force.
Eamon stilled.
Nora’s gaze held his. Direct. Unflinching. There was Alpha in it, of course. Authority lived in her now as naturally as breath. But beneath that was something quieter.
Sister.
“I would be,” she continued, blunt as ever, “if you weren’t here.”
His throat tightened before he could prepare for it.
He looked down at the folded list. “That is either trust or a very efficient way to make me nervous.”
“It can be both.”
“Of course.”
Her expression softened just enough to hurt. “Eamon.”
He looked back up.
“I mean it.”
He knew she did.
“I’ll keep them steady,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’ll take the trade list into the village, confirm costs before agreeing, and avoid promising more meat than we can preserve if the weather turns.”
“I know.”
He paused. “You’re very difficult to reassure when you insist on already trusting me.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh.
Then Nora’s gaze shifted toward the village road beyond the trees.
“When you go in,” she said, “check on Leana.”
Eamon nodded once. “I planned to.”
Her eyes returned to his.
He understood what sat beneath the request. History. The old wound of decisions made around Nora instead of with her. Eamon had done that once, believing help became harmless if it was necessary enough.
He would not do it again.
“I’ll ask,” he said. “Not decide.”
Nora studied him for a moment.
Then she nodded.
“She’ll pretend she needs nothing,” Nora said.
“Yes.”
“You should not believe her.”
“I won’t.”
“But you should not argue with her like she’s helpless either.”
“I won’t do that either.”
Nora narrowed her eyes. “You sound like you’ve been practicing.”
“I have been extensively trained by terrifying women.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Good.”
They stood in silence again, but this one was easier.
Then Nora stepped forward and pressed her forehead briefly against his shoulder.
Eamon froze.
Only for a breath.
Then he lowered his head until his cheek rested lightly against her hair. The scar along his face pulled faintly with the movement. He ignored it.
Nora did not embrace easily. She did not offer softness because the moment expected it. When she gave it, she meant it.
“Come back irritated,” he said quietly.
She made a sound against his shoulder. “What?”
“From the council. Irritated means things went well. If you come back calm, I’ll assume we need to prepare for war.”
She pulled away and gave him a flat look. “I am often calm.”
“Yes. That’s what concerns me.”
Her laugh was brief and rough and real.
By the time they returned to the clearing, Brooks had finished checking the straps on his pack and Morsel had arranged himself across Brooks’ boots in one final act of protest.
Brooks looked down. “He’s committed.”
Nora clicked her tongue. “Morsel.”
The dog did not move.
Eamon tucked the list into his belt and stepped closer. “Come on.”
Morsel glanced at him, weighing loyalty against stubbornness.
Eamon sighed. “I’ll need help inspecting the smokehouse later.”
That did it.
Morsel rose with great dignity, as if he had intended to obey all along, and trotted to Eamon’s side.
Brooks watched him go. “You have my full confidence regarding the pack,” he told Eamon. His gaze dropped to Morsel. “And my condolences regarding the dog.”
Morsel wagged brightly.
“I appreciate both,” Eamon said.
Brooks’ amusement faded into something steadier. He clasped Eamon’s forearm, grip warm and firm. “Nora wouldn’t leave if she didn’t trust you completely.”
“I know.”
“And neither would I.”
That surprised him more.
Eamon held Brooks’ gaze. There had been a time when trust between them had required careful construction. What stood between them now was simpler.
Earned.
“Thank you,” Eamon said.
Brooks released him. “Keep the pack standing. Don’t let anyone expand the east line because they got bored. And good luck in the village.”
Eamon arched a brow. “With the trade?”
Brooks looked briefly toward Morsel. “With Morsel.”
Nora adjusted her cloak and stepped close enough to touch Morsel once more between the ears. “Behave.”
Morsel leaned into her hand.
“I mean it. No stealing from the smokehouse. No harassing Eamon during meetings. And if he tells you to stay, you stay.”
Morsel looked deeply offended by the suggestion that such a command might ever be necessary.
Eamon looked at Nora. “You realize he understood the smokehouse rule best.”
“I know.”
“Because that was the only one that mattered to him.”
“I know.”
Brooks shouldered his pack. “We need to go before she starts negotiating with him.”
“I don’t negotiate with Morsel,” Nora said.
Eamon, Brooks, and two nearby pack members all looked at her.
Her expression sharpened. “Often.”
Brooks wisely said nothing.
The pack gathered as the Alphas moved toward the road. No formal farewell had been planned, but people came anyway, drawn by instinct and respect. Nora paused at the boundary of the clearing and looked back.
The noise quieted.
“I’ll return as soon as the council releases us or annoys me enough to leave,” Nora said. “Until then, Eamon speaks with my authority.”
No one questioned it.
Heads lowered. Shoulders straightened. Agreement moved through the pack without needing words.
Nora’s gaze met his one last time.
Not command.
Trust.
Then she turned and walked with Brooks into the trees.
The pack watched until the forest took them.
For several breaths, no one moved.
Then the clearing began to remember itself. Voices returned. Someone asked about patrol rotation. Someone else mentioned the southern snares. A younger wolf looked toward Eamon, waiting.
Morsel pressed against his leg.
Eamon unfolded the trade list once more.
The ink was neat. The needs were many. The day had barely begun.
Nora and Brooks would not be back for at least a week.
Probably two.
Eamon looked from the list to the pack waiting around him, then toward the village road where iron, gossip, work, and a blacksmith he had not yet met waited beyond the trees.
“Right,” he said.
Morsel wagged once.
Eamon squared his shoulders.
“Let’s begin.”
