He found me at the eastern window with a cup of tea I'd been not-drinking for twenty minutes.
Not the window in his rooms — the one in the long gallery, the one that faced the direction of the territory's interior, past the tree line and the tributary and into the rolling stretch of forest that I had learned through the pack bond and the edges of training runs but had not yet walked into simply because there was no reason other than wanting to.
"You keep looking at it," he said.
"The territory?"
"The ridge." He came to stand beside me. "It's visible from here on clear days. That line of higher ground, ten degrees to the left of the tallest tree." He paused. "You've been looking at it since the morning after the shift."
I looked. He was right — there was a line on the horizon, subtler
