**
A mitten was still on the peg by the holding dens' latch. Smoke rose straight from the roof-hole in the cold. Someone inside laughed at something that had nothing to do with rulings.
Magnus waited at the turn toward the inner keep, not following, only present when I was done walking.
"Bed that doesn't move," he said, not as a question.
"Indeed." I said simply with a smile.
We went up together. In our rooms he barred the door and I stood with my back against it and felt the day settle in layers—bread with a burnt edge, a yearling's left-lead correction, Astrid's ignored traffic, a young wolf counting nights, Karin's father refusing to let a broken leg become a legend, a mitten on a peg.
