In her room, she washed quickly—face, hands, legs—using the basin of water someone had left. Then she went to the wooden cloth stand and pulled out the practical clothes Eliasen had given her days ago. Leather trousers that fit snugly and allowed movement. A sturdy tunic that wouldn't tear easily. She strapped the borrowed boots on, making sure they were tight after all this wasn't a social visit—
When she stepped outside the mountain den, the pack was already gathered.
They lined the pathway leading away from the carved stone dwellings. Warriors and families standing in rows. Gerald stood at the front, his red hair bright in the morning sun.
Someone was glowering at her from the crowd. Eliasen, standing with her arms crossed and her red eyes blazing with hurt that cut deeper than anger
