Blood never looked right on snow.
Alaric sat on a bench in the chapel hall, hands resting on his knees. A strip of clean cloth wrapped his scraped shoulder where the Frostfang's swipe had caught him through Elaina's barrier. Flour still clung to his clothes in ghostly patches.
Lia peered around the doorway, eyes wide. Elaina gently blocked her view with a hand. "Back to the dorm, little mouse. We will be done soon."
"But Alaric…" Lia started.
"He is fine," Elaina said. "Go sit with Mira and count candles."
Lia hesitated, then obeyed, small footsteps pattering away.
Father Corwin finished binding Kellan's bruised arm. "Hold that a few days and try not to swing heavy logs with it," he said.
Kellan winced. "No promises."
Rin sat on the floor nearby, a cut under one eye and a rapidly purpling bruise on her cheek where a sack of potatoes had bounced off her head during the confusion. She poked at it with morbid interest.
Corwin turned to Alaric. "You are sure there is no deeper wound?"
"Just the scrape," Alaric said. "The claw caught the sack more than me."
"And then you set the sack on fire," Rin added proudly. "Exploded flour in its face."
"It did not explode," Alaric said. "It just burned very fast."
"That is what we call exploding," Rin replied.
"Enough," Elaina said. She looked tired, but her voice held. "You four did what you had to. No one died. That is what matters."
In the side aisle, Torren and two other hunters knelt by the body of the smaller wolf. Their hands moved briskly as they checked teeth and paws, searching for signs of corruption beyond normal beast blood.
"It really was a Frostfang," one muttered. "Never seen one drive its pack this close to houses."
Torren grunted. "Something pushed it, or it is hungrier than it should be. Either way, not a good sign."
He straightened and walked over to Corwin and Elaina. His gaze flicked once to Alaric.
"That boy's spell," he said. "The flour fire. He aimed that on purpose?"
Alaric opened his mouth, then shut it again when Corwin raised a hand.
"Explain," the priest said calmly.
Alaric chose his words with care. "At the carpenters' street, I once saw wood dust catch fire when a lantern fell. Today the flour went up into the air when the sack tore. I thought… it might work the same. So I cast a small Ignis into it."
Torren frowned. "You remembered that in the middle of a charge?"
"I did not want it to bite me," Alaric said, which was true enough.
Corwin's eyes narrowed, not in anger but in thought. "And the Confirma?"
Alaric looked down. "I did not want it to bite Mira either."
Kellan gave a short huff that might have been a laugh.
Torren folded his arms. "Most grown hunters forget half their training when a Fen breed looks at them. That boy used a flame trick I have never seen and kept his legs under him long enough to drag someone clear."
"Luck," Corwin said reflexively.
"Maybe," Torren replied. "Or something else. Either way, if you have any sense, you will write his name in a report."
Elaina crossed her arms. "A report to who?"
"To people who can send someone to look at him properly," Torren said. "The Church. The Academy. Both, if you like. If that Frostfang keeps sniffing around, it will not be the last time he has to stand in front of something nasty. He should at least have the tools."
Corwin did not answer right away.
He looked at Alaric, at the way the boy sat straight despite the bruises, at the way his hands rested quietly instead of shaking.
Then he sighed. "I dislike the idea of shoving children into the capital's jaws," he said. "But I dislike wasted talent more."
Elaina's mouth pressed into a thin line. "He is still small," she said. "A year ago he was crying into my sleeve every night."
"He is not crying now," Torren said. "He is counting. You can see it on his face."
Elaina glanced at Alaric and had to concede that point.
Corwin rose and went to his desk. He pulled out parchment, ink, and a quill that had seen too many sermons.
He wrote slowly, deliberately, the scratch of the pen loud in the quiet hall.
To the regional office of the Church of the Seven in Larethin…
Report of unusual magical control in one Alaric of Horsin, age eight…
Assisted in repelling a Frostfang led wolf pack on the south road…
Recommend formal evaluation by qualified examiner…
When he finished, he sanded the ink, folded the sheet, and sealed it with the chapel's small wax stamp.
He handed the letter to Torren. "You will be passing Larethin on your next range?"
"Tomorrow," Torren said. He tucked the letter into his coat. "I will put it in the right hands."
Corwin nodded once. "Then we will wait."
Elaina moved to the doorway and began shooing children toward the dormitory, insisting that anyone still standing must therefore be healthy enough to eat supper.
Rin protested she could not possibly walk and argued all the way down the hall.
Kellan picked up the dropped bundle of firewood without being told.
Alaric rose more slowly. His shoulder ached and the memory of blue eyes and frozen breath lingered, but his voice stayed steady when he answered Elaina's order to move.
Outside, night thickened over the town. In the morning, hunters would follow tracks again. Somewhere beyond the south treeline, a wounded Frostfang limped through the snow, still alive.
And beyond the town, on roads Alaric had never walked, a sealed letter now waited to be carried, its destination set and its words already reaching further than any of them could see.