She was waiting, framed against the blowing snow and wrapped in the huge white bearskin that she’d worn when I first met her. The wolf pack ranged around her, tussling over bits of bone and growling in high spirits. I stood mutely before her and pointed at the snow.

“It’s hunting weather,” she said, giving me a grin that set off my reckless heart again.

“You’re going out in this? You can’t see or hear anything,” I said, pushing aside the desire to pound my hands against the walls. “Can they even catch a scent in that?” The memory of the storm that had nearly killed me shivered through me. Beyond the stable door the blizzard raged, blowing heavy drifts down the stone aisle. The Huntress paused and tilted her head like a wild thing, as if whatever she had heard had answered her unspoken question.

“Are you not coming then?” she asked.

I pulled my hood up over my head and made to stride past her out of the stable. A huge white shape eclipsed the dim light, lumbering in with an overpowering odor of bear. I took a quick step backward, still not quite used to how easily the large animal moved, and the Huntress caught me around the waist. It was so easy to lean into her. It would be so easy to tilt my face to hers or turn in her arms, the memory of her body in the firelight glowing white-hot.

“Easy,” she said, giving me a quick squeeze before she leapt astride the bear, spear in hand.

I stared up at them, awed anew despite myself by the sight of the massive muzzle weaving slowly back and forth, and by the tumble of dark hair pouring from beneath the hood of her cloak. The wolves lifted their heads to howl. The sound echoed in the stable, and I found myself clutching at the pup’s fur.

“Rowan,” the Huntress said, holding out her hand.

I let her haul me up before her. The motion brought a flash of memory, taking me back to that first ride, and I shoved aside thoughts of my family. She raised her silver hunting horn to her lips and blew, the bugle joining the howls of the wolves, and the pack surged forward, lean, loping shapes vanishing into the teeth of the blizzard, my pup lost somewhere in their midst. Their howls vanished in the greater howl of the storm, and I was grateful for the fur-lined hood of my cloak. A long strand of her hair tangled with my own, blown forward with the shrieking wind. I watched them dance for a moment, black and brown, and then the castle walls loomed out of the white and the dark green of the rose vines sliced through the snow-blasted stone.