Chapter 5

RHYANNE

The town my father described as "small and quiet," turned out to be even smaller and quieter than I had imagined.

I'd walked for about two days before I reached the town, and when the first rooftops finally came into view, my stomach sank. Ashenfall's poorest quarter would have looked like a noble's estate next to this place. Buildings were leaned against each other like they were the only thing holding one another up, roofs patched with mismatched wood and scraps of hide, even the smell of the place— smoke, damp earth, some faintly rotten odor underneath it all— clung to the back of my throat the moment I passed the first house.

Wolves moved through the narrow streets with their heads down, shoulders hunched. There was a particular kind of hollowness in it, the exhaustion of a place that had been forgotten, there were no guards patrolling, no markets bright with fresh goods. Just tired faces, thin dogs and children who watched me pass with eyes too old for their bodies.

I understood, within the first few minutes, exactly why my father chose this place. Nobody here would ask questions about a girl with no pack and no coin. They had too many of their own to worry about.

I was still taking it in— the crooked signposts, the way the wind seemed to move slower here, as if it too had given up. Then I saw a young boy.

He couldn't have been older than ten, thin as a blade, darting between two market stalls with something clutched to his chest, behind him, a heavyset man bellowed and lunged, catching only air as the boy shifted mid-stride— small paws replacing his foot in the blink of an eye, a scrappy grey pup tearing off between legs and carts and disappearing down an alley before anyone could react.

The man cursed, and kicked at a crate, then went back to his stall muttering. No one else so much as looked up. Just another day apparently.

I kept walking, my bag was getting heavier on my shoulder. I was trying to look like I had somewhere to be even though I had no idea where to go.

"Well, well." a voice sounded beside me before I'd even registered someone approaching— a wolf, he looked older than me by probably a few years, leaning against a post with ease. He had dark hair, a sharp grin, he's probably trying to flirt. "Haven't seen you around here before. Are you lost, or just here for the scenery?"

"Neither," I said, and kept on moving.

"Ouch." He fell into step beside me. "New to town, then. I could show you around. Best places to eat, best places to sleep that won't rob you blind—"

"I can manage, thank you."

"Suit yourself." He shrugged and for a moment I thought that was the end of it, then his hand moved fast ,and— my bag was gone from my shoulder. I didn't even feel the strap slip.

"H–hey—!"

He was already running, laughing over his shoulder like this was the most fun he'd had all week. I bolted after him without thinking, adrenaline burning through my exhaustion. I weaved between carts and startled townsfolk with a speed that surprised even me. My wolf may have been weak, but my legs, apparently, had opinions of their own.

I caught up to him at the mouth of an alley, and grabbed the strap of my bag with both hands, then I yanked hard enough that he stumbled sideways into a wall. He didn't let go easily— we grappled for it, graceless and undignified, until my foot got caught on stone and I went down hard, my bag wrenched back into my arms as I hit the ground, pain lancing up my elbow.

He didn't stick around to gloat, one look at the scene we'd made and he took off, disappearing around a corner before I'd even caught my breath.

I stayed there a moment, sprawled in the dirt, and my bag clutched to my chest like it was the last solid thing in my world— which, at this point, it might have been.

"You alright?"

I flinched, scrambling upright too fast, every instinct from the last two days telling me to run first and assess later. The wolf standing over me was a woman, maybe a few years older than me, her arms crossed, watching me with an expression that was less threatening and more curious.

"I'm fine," I said, too quickly, backing up a step despite myself.

"You do not look fine young lady. You look like you just lost a fight with the pavement." She tilted her head, looking at my torn sleeve, the bag clutched white-knuckled in my hands, just the general state of me. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

I didn't relax, not fully, how could I have given what I experienced? But something in the way she spoke— her voice steady, calm, no trace of the cruelty— kept me from bolting.

"Did you run away from home?" she asked, not unkindly, she genuinely wanted to know why I was here.

The question landed somewhere tender and raw, before I could stop myself, the truth came out plain and small. "I was banished."

Her expression shifted— not pity, exactly. Recognition, maybe, like she'd heard some version of that sentence before, from many others.

"Poor thing," she said quietly.

And then, before I could ask what she meant by it, she held out a hand to help me up off the ground.