Kingdom of Ash

skin to the bone. Or had that been a dream,
too?
She had drifted into memory, into years of
training in an assassin’s keep. Into lessons
where she’d been left in chains, in her own
waste, until she figured out how to remove
them.
But she’d been bound with that training in
mind. Nothing she tried in the cramped dark
had worked.
The metal of the glove scraped against the
dark stone, barely audible over the hissing
braziers, the roaring river beyond them.
Wherever they were.
Her, and the wolf.
Fenrys.
No chains bound him. None were needed.
Maeve had ordered him to stay, to stand
down, and so he would.
For long minutes, they stared at each other.