Vale Vale had slept beneath the open sky before.
What unsettled her was how quiet it felt when no one expected her to wake for them.
The forest thinned as dawn crept in, pale light filtering through bare branches. She rose before the sun fully claimed the horizon, smoothing dirt from her cloak out of habit—presentation mattered, even when no one was watching.
Especially then.
She checked her supplies. Sparse. Enough to last a few days if she was careful. She had planned for departure long before the council pretended it was their idea.
That knowledge should have comforted her.
It didn't.
She moved east, away from the familiar patrol paths, toward land she knew only from reports and half-remembered maps. Border territory. Neutral ground. A place pack watched but did not claim.
A place that did not care who she had been.
The thought settled uneasily in her chest.
By midday, she reached a shallow stream. Vale Vale knelt, cupping water into her hands. The cold steadied her, sharpened her thoughts.
You are not helpless, she reminded herself.
She had survived worse than dismissal. Worse than silence.
Still, when a rustle sounded behind her, her body tensed before her mind caught up.
A young wolf stood frozen at the tree line—thin, wide-eyed, injured. Blood darkened one hind leg.
He wasn't from her pack.
Good.
Vale rose slowly, palms open. "I won't hurt you."
The wolf hesitated, nostrils flaring. Fear sharpened his scent—but not hostility. He had run too far, too fast.
She could leave.
That would be wiser. Safer.
Instead, she stepped closer.
"I can help," she said, voice gentle, steady. The tone she had perfected over years of mediating tempers and easing panic. "If you let me."
After a long moment, he nodded.
She worked quickly, efficiently. Cleaning the wound. Binding it with practiced hands. He watched her the entire time, tense but silent.
When she finished, he swallowed. "You're… you're a Vale."
It wasn't a question.
She paused. Just long enough.
"I was," she said.
The word tasted strange. Past tense. Unanchored.
The wolf's eyes widened. Not with judgment—confusion. Maybe even awe.
"Why would they—"
"It doesn't matter," Vale said softly.
Because it didn't. Not here. Not now.
She stood, stepping back to give him space. "You should head north. There's a patrol line near the ridge. They'll find you."
"You're not coming?" he asked.
Vale shook her head. "No."
He hesitated, then bowed his head—not deeply, not formally. Just enough.
"Thank you."
She watched him limp away until the forest swallowed his shape.
Only then did the weight of it press in.
She had helped.
She had been seen.
And still, she was alone.
Vale exhaled, steadying herself.
Kindness was a habit she would have to learn how to live with again.
She turned east once more, unaware of the eyes that watched from farther within the trees—watching not with claim or command, but with something quieter.
Recognition.