That night, sleep came slowly.
He lay beside her, one arm beneath her head, the other across her belly, feeling the small kicks of the life inside. Outside, the wind moved through the trees like a restless spirit, and the wolf did not sleep. It paced the porch, pawprints vanishing in fresh snow.
"I felt them," she whispered into the dark. "Not just the men. The forest. It's uneasy."
He didn't answer.
"You don't have to say it," she added. "I know what you're thinking."
He kissed her temple. "What am I thinking?"
"That you should have killed them at the door."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
She turned in his arms and pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm not afraid. Not for myself. But you've outrun the storm long enough. It knows your name."
He exhaled through his nose, tired and full of something deeper than fatigue.
"You never speak of your old life," she said. "Why is that?"
"I buried it."
"Deep?"
"Not deep enough."
She traced a line over his ribs, thoughtful. "Then tomorrow, go hunt. Bring something back. Something warm. Let the forest know you still live like a man — not a ghost."
He nodded, reluctant. "And you?"
"I'll stay close. I have salves to stir, herbs to bind, and spirits to quiet. Your child is impatient."
He smiled again. It was the only thing in the world that still made him feel whole.
Morning came gray and heavy.
He saddled the horse with quiet hands. The wolf waited near the tree line, tail still, ears high. As he mounted, his wife stepped out from the cabin, wrapped in a fur cloak, snow brushing her ankles.
She looked radiant. Earthbound. Eternal.
"You'll find deer to the north," she said. "The old trail. It still remembers you."
He reached down and touched her cheek. "If they come back—"
"They won't find fear," she said simply.
She placed a kiss on the center of his palm and pressed it to her belly.
"Go."
The wolf moved first, a flash of white against the trees. The horse followed, hooves muffled in deep snow. He didn't look back. He had learned long ago that peace — like prey — vanished when you chased it too hard.
The silence came later.
Around midday, the wind shifted.
Birds stopped singing.
And the forest held its breath.