[Belin]

Wolf’s brother was heavy. There was no way around this simple fact. Bear had always been a tall man, and his training and hunting had made him tough, efficient, and large instead of merely gangly. He was all the heavier, thought Wolf, when he’s leaning against your right shoulder for support, only vaguely conscious and unable to walk by himself, especially when one’s own left ankle had somehow been twisted awkwardly, and even more so in the cold wind that had followed the storm. At least the persistent drizzle had subsided for the moment. Spring. Wolf gritted his teeth against it.

Bear was silent, whether from pain or anger his brother could not say. His face, usually so expressive, was quiet in a way that Wolf did not want to break in upon. Bear needed to know that he would have been part of Wolf’s counsel, that the death of Calem called for special action from them and that Wolf knew he couldn’t do this by himself. But to place such responsibility on a fainting man was absurd. Still, if he was still angry…

As so often in the past few days, Wolf hesitated. Surely Bear, even a half-conscious and wounded Bear, would not accept help from him if he did not want reconciliation? With a strange, unaccustomed timidity, Wolf addressed himself to the brother in whose eyes he had worked so hard to remain strong, aloof, unquestionable.

“That was… very brave, Bear.”

Very foolish, he thought, very stubborn and irritating and very, very dangerous. But all of those things were Bear, had always been Bear, and he needed to recognize his virtues too, his virtues and his flaws apparent in the same act, like the two sides of his hand…

Sun and moon, I’m becoming a sentimental old woman. It must be the weight.

Bear, however, did not respond, not so much as a grunt. His eyes were distant, and his face changed no more than if he hadn’t heard him at all.

Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe what consciousness he had was so focused on overcoming his pain and keeping their maimed steps shuffling along the path toward the village, and no attention was left for voices, his own or someone else’s.

But it was someone else’s voice that Wolf heard suddenly, not far off and through the trees. A southern voice.

Wordlessly, and hoping fervently that his brother wouldn’t notice, Wolf turned aside and headed toward the village by another, safer route.

************************************************** *********

Cleft busied himself about Bear's prone form and steadfastly refused to answer or even acknowledge questions. The two brothers and Kestrel had crowded into the hut, filling it with gloom and impatience, until Cleft waved them away along with their questions. "I'm working," he said shortly. "You are not working. You are interfering with my work. Go do something useful."

Knife strode away, filled with resentment. Wolf suspected he was going to look for the barrel of wine they'd taken off a traveler's hands some months ago. He moved to stop him, but thought better of it. What was the use of irritating him further?

More worrisome to Wolf was Kestrel, whose face was so quiet as she limped back to her house, away from her absent husband and back to her injured son. Her family...