The next morning, Sylvia woke to the sound of stomping feet coming from overhead. Someone was banging at the door, and the Wolf was walking downstairs to answer. Slipping out of bed, Sylvia opened her door just a crack to peer into the hallway. The Wolf stood in the hall, fiddling with his key to unlock the door. When he opened it, Sylvia could not see who was standing outside, but she could hear a man’s voice.

“Good morning!”

“What?”, the Wolf demanded. His voice had been raspy yesterday, but now he sounded truly grumpy.

“Just coming by to see if you are willing to lend out that girl of yours.”

“No”, the Wolf answered curtly and made to close the door.

“I will pay you a full silver.”

The Wolf ran a hand over his face and grumbled. “Ten gold and you can have her.”

The man at the door snorted indelicately. “Are you insane?”

“That is what she cost me”, the Wolf argued.

“I am not looking to buy her”, the man laughed.

The Wolf did not laugh. “That is the price. Take it or leave it.”

“Bah. She barely has tits anyway. Sack of bones”, the man spat.

Slamming the door shut, the Wolf turned around and caught Sylvia peering from the bedchamber. She would have ducked back into hiding, but since she had already been spotted, she stood still behind the door. She frowned to herself. There was something in the way the Wolf looked at her that she could not decipher. His eyes had a sheen to them, like a sad dog, or a child woken too early in the morning.

“Eat something. We will start training soon”, the Wolf urged.

“Training?”

“You will have to earn your keep around here, or hounds like him will keep sniffing”, the Wolf said.

Not waiting for a response, he headed for the stairs. Before he could place his foot on the first step, there was another series of knocks. Growling, he turned back, unlocked the door again, and yanked it open. When he saw who stood outside, all anger melted off him in an instant. He lowered his head in reverence.

“Björn. How can I help you?”, he asked politely.

The Wolf backed away and a tall man strode into the house. A thick fur covered his shoulders and his shirt was coloured a rich deep red. Even though he was a mere centimetre taller than the Wolf, Björn appeared to speak down to him from a great height.

“Where is the girl?”, Björn demanded.

The Wolf pointedly did not look in Sylvia’s direction. “Why?”, he wondered.

Sylvia backed away from the bedroom door so she was out of view.

“She is a Fri spawn.” Björn stated. The destain in his voice made Sylvia’s skin crawl.

“What? A Fri? Are you sure?”, the Wolf asked.

Alarmed by the surprise in his voice, Sylvia looked around the room. She glanced at the window, and the horse outside. She imagined her escape again, but she came up short once more. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to ride, and nowhere to hide.

Björn sighed. “Those idiots do not seem to understand the concept of extermination. One would think they should know better than to drag vermin into the house.”

There was a heavy silence in the hallway. Sylvia pressed herself against the wall and closed her eyes. Her heart was racing. She wished with all her might she could become invisible. She prayed to Gaia to remain hidden.

“No worries. You will be compensated”, Björn ensured.

“I am not sure…”, the Wolf hesitated. “She has not shown any defiance. I find it hard to believe she is Fri. Not really.”

“She is from one of the villages. She is a spawn”, Björn stated dryly.

“She has proven very useful”, the Wolf tried.

“Do not tell me you have already taken a liking to her?”, Björn teased. “What would my sister say?”

The Wolf cleared his throat. “She is useful”, he repeated. “And like I said, she has been very obedient. I do not see how she could be a spawn. They are disrespectful and violent. You know how they are.”

Sighing deeply, Björn gave in, “Fine, because it is you. I will let her live, given that she takes the oath.”

“She will”, the Wolf agreed at once.

“We will see. Where is she?”, Björn demanded.

Sylvia heard a few steps and then the door creaked. She quickly straightened her back and pushed away from the wall to make sure she seemed presentable. Bowing, she kept her eyes glued to the floor. Björn wore high leather boots. They seemed new, or exceptionally well tended. Sylvia focused on the stitches along the sole, counting every movement of the cobbler’s hands. For each careful stitch, the tension in her soul eased. Wrapping her soul tightly in calm, careful observation, Sylvia exhaled.

Björn glanced at the Wolf, a look of surprise on his face. He huffed and nudged Sylvia's chin up so he could inspect her face. Still, she kept her eyes firmly downcast. The man’s hand was soft and he smelled pleasantly of soap and herbs.

“I can see why you like her. She is cute”, Björn complimented. “What is your name, Girl?”

“Sylvia”, she mumbled.

“No last name?”, Björn asked.

Sylvia shook her head.

“Not Fri then, clearly”, Björn prodded in a sarcastic tone.

Sylvia shot the Wolf a glance. He was tense. His hands were balled into fists, but his face was carefully blank.

“Björn. I admit, our village was friendly with Fri. Why, I cannot say. I found them rather disrespectful”, Sylvia said, making sure to keep her voice steady.

“That so?”, Björn questioned. “Why is that, pray tell?”

Sylvia willed herself not to tense up. She gathered all her courage and met the tall man’s eyes. They were clever and proud. She realised no simple lie would trick him. She dug for every shred of true dissatisfaction. “The harvest and cattle. At first they asked for small favours, then for regular tributes. They always demanded more. We had no choice but to comply, even in drought.”

Björn held her gaze for a long moment, before nodding. “Then you will not mind pledging your loyalty to the pack?”, he challenged.

“Of course not”, Sylvia agreed at once.

Surprise ghosted over Björn’s face. He drew a dagger from his belt and held it out to Sylvia. “The words are: I hereby pledge my undying loyalty to the pack. I shall do for the pack, everything and anything, down to paying the highest price.”

Accepting the weapon, Sylvia swallowed hard. The dagger was small, but heavy, and the handle was thick and uncomfortable. Björn waited for her to make the first cut. Sylvia glanced to the Wolf again. He was visibly uncomfortable. Sylvia’s eyes fell on the bandage peaking out from the cuff of his tunic, and in an instant, she knew what she had to do.

“May I request to use the kitchen knife? It is hardly fitting for me to use a soldier’s blade.”

Björn raised an eyebrow, but he did accept his dagger back. “Very well.”

Ducking, Sylvia walked past the two bandits, and into the kitchen. Finding the knife from the day before, she clutched it tightly in her hand. She had only rinsed it. She could not see any blood on it, but she hoped any residue would be enough. Sending a quiet prayer to Gaia, she pressed the tip of the knife to the back of her hand. Causing a small break in the skin, she watched a few drops of blood pool. The blood was threatening to run down the side of her hand. She spread her fingers and tried to balance the fluid. Then it happened. A warm sensation spread from the centre of her hand, out to her fingers. It was something beyond the heat of her own body. Her soul was quivering, but she did her best to stay steady. She knew she had to act quick.

“I hereby pledge my undying loyalty. I shall do everything and anything, down to paying the highest price. Is that right?”, she asked.

“For the pack”, Björn reminded.

Sylvia’s hand cooled off in an instant. She could feel the bond she had created with her rephrased oath. She felt the presence of the Wolf standing behind her, watching her. She felt as though a constant breeze was pushing her soul towards him. She just hoped it was enough.

“Right. For the pack. Sorry”, Sylvia nodded.

Björn pricked his thumb with the tip of his dagger and squeezed a drop of blood out. Letting it fall onto Sylvia’s wound, he nodded toward her with his chin. Sylvia bowed her head and let the theatrics commence.

“I hereby pledge my undying loyalty to the pack. For the pack, I shall do everything and anything, down to paying the highest price”, she swore dutifully.

There was but a tingle of fear dancing over her soul now. She hoped the book Ryther had given her was correct about oaths being mutually exclusive. To add some visual flare, she gaped down at her hand and wiggled her fingers, like there was an unfamiliar sensation running through them. Then she looked back up, but avoided the eyes of the two Wolves watching her.

A surprised smile softened Björn’s face. “Maybe you were right after all”, he admitted. He clapped the Wolf on the shoulder. “But do keep an eye on her nonetheless. You never know what a spawn might come up with.”

“Of course”, the Wolf agreed. “I will make sure she does not idle.”

“Good”, Björn smiled. “Then I wish you a pleasant day. I would stay for lunch, but I am afraid I still have to deal with Stein. This one may be decent, but he will still have to answer for bringing her here at all.”

“Disobedience is disobedience, no matter the outcome”, the Wolf agreed.

“Indeed it is. So do not make me regret this”, Björn added, before taking his leave.

The Wolf followed Björn to the door. As soon as they had left the kitchen, Sylvia sank into a chair and exhaled audibly. She balled her injured hand into a fist. Draping the other over it, she closed her eyes and focused. There was a tingling sensation around the injury, and the constant nudging in her chest, but nothing else. There was only one bond, and it was not to the pack of Wolves. Relief washed over Sylvia. Had she not been sitting already, she would have fallen to her knees.

“Thank you Gaia”, Sylvia whispered.

The Wolf returned after a short while. He looked Sylvia up and down, sighed, and shook his head. “Prepare breakfast. Then, we train”, he prompted, before walking upstairs.

To say he walked was not entirely fair. He stomped up with the careful grace of an ox. Sylvia suspected the knocking had woken him earlier than he would have liked. She hoped it did not translate into the kind of mood which was routinely taken out on smaller, more fragile people.

Sylvia made sure to tend to her wound before setting the table. She had no idea what this training the Wolf spoke of would entail, but for now she was just glad to be spared rape or murder, or both. At least the Wolf had no intentions of sharing her with anyone. That was a good sign, as far as good signs went when one was soulbound to a bandit.

Breakfast was awkward. Sylvia sat silent opposite the broad Wolf. Her eyes found the bandage over his wrist again. He had still not made any comment about what had transpired. He let Sylvia handle knives freely, despite her attack on him.

Using a jagged knife, Sylvia cut the bread. Accompanied by butter and cheese, she placed two thick slices on a plate. She got up and rounded the table to serve the Wolf. When she put the plate down in front of him, he raised his hand. Sylvia wanted to retreat, but something inside of her told her to stop. She sensed a warmth from him, creeping over her shoulder. It was strange, but not concerning. The Wolf reached out and touched her hair, just as he had done the day before.

Sylvia clenched her jaw. Two opposing forces grappled around her soul. She had a strong urge to slash the knife across his arm, to free herself from his touch and see his blood spill onto the floor again. But again, something inside her pleaded she stay still. She had given an oath to him. Not trusting herself entirely, she made sure to hold the knife as far away as possible.

The Wolf ran the torn ends of Sylvia's hair between his fingers. He glanced at her face, and let go. He turned his attention back to his meal.

Sylvia exhaled slowly and returned to her own plate, at the other end of the table. She strained against herself, her limbs unwilling to cooperate. Her body felt heavy and her joints stiff, like rusty hinges. Sinking into her chair, she put her hand, and the knife within it, on the table, and slowly uncurled her fingers until the hilt fell out of her grip. An unseen burden eased from her chest and she took a deep breath.

She looked at the slice of bread in front of her. Whatever the plan for the day may be, she was certain she would be better off having eaten enough. She did not dare to touch the knife again. Taking the butter and the wooden spreader, she added a thick layer to her bread, and then topped it with generous amounts of cheese. The Wolf made no comment about her gluttonous approach to the ratio of bread and toppings.

The Wolf kept glancing at Sylvia, his hard eyes exploring her face, and hair, and hands. When he was done eating, he did not bother removing his plate from the table, and left.

Finally relaxing her shoulders, Sylvia finished up as well and brushed the crumbs off the plates, before stacking them neatly on the counter. It struck her how easy it was to follow the movements of the Wolf upstairs. His stride was heavy and she could hear him rummaging around. He was not quite that loud the day before. She wondered…

Closing her eyes, Sylvia placed her hands over her ears. She pressed her palms firmly against her head to block out as much noise as possible. At first, she heard nothing but the dull rumble of pressure. Then, she heard her breath, quick and shallow. She furrowed her eyebrows and pressed her hands harder against her ears. She heard it. Breathing, deep and heavy. Steps. She felt heavy, large. She was walking. Walking down the stairs. She opened her eyes and the world snapped back into focus before her. The Wolf stood in front of her with a small leather roll clutched in his hand.

The Wolf gave Sylvia a long look and then rounded her, leaving ample space between them. Placing the leather roll down on the table, he untied the knot and rolled it out, revealing a pair of tweezers, a wooden comb, scissors, some hairbands, and a container for soap. Then, he went to fetch the washing basin, and filled it at the pump. He placed it on the table and pulled out a chair. Turning to Sylvia, he motioned toward the seat with his open hand.

Sylvia was highly uncomfortable with the invitation, but she was even more scared of defying the large Wolf. Obediently taking a seat, she rested her back against the heavy table and bent backwards to hold her head over the basin. One of the Wolf’s large hands held the back of her head, while the other urged her down further. Sylvia's entire body tensed up when her scalp dipped into the cold water, but the Wolf kept pushing. When the water reached Sylvia's hairline, he stopped and cradled her head. His eyes were completely focused on the task at hand. He ran his fingers through Sylvia's curly hair, making sure it was wet and clean.

Feeling very small in the shadow of the Wolf, Sylvia avoided his gaze. She inspected the thick tunic he was wearing. It was well-worn and clean. Patches in a lighter brown had been stitched over the elbows. An old black belt held the cloth tight around his broad waist. A worn loop, which would ordinarily hold a scabbard, hung loosely at his side. Sylvia appraised the simple buckle, and noted the absence of decorative stitchings or imprints on his attire. Sweeping her eyes over his writs and neck, she found no jewellery whatsoever. How was a man so plain living in a house so fine?

The Wolf urged Sylvia back up and she was relieved to lift her head out of the water. The Wolf wrapped a towel around her hair, pressing some of the moisture out. Still avoiding his eyes, Sylvia got a closer look at his arms. He had rolled his sleeves up all the way to his elbows, revealing a great many scars. The ridges crossed wildly over his skin. Most were clustered over his hands and wrists, where she had added to the collection, but some ran lengthwise up to his elbows, and disappeared under his clothes. Some of the lines were surely from battles or training, but others looked intentional, like he had been still while they were carved into his skin. Sylvia made a conscious effort not to imagine their origin.

Unwrapping the towel, the Wolf hung it over Sylvia's shoulders. He took the comb from his roll and began combing Sylvia’s hair. He worked with care, starting from the tips and working his way to the scalp. His hands moved with practised ease, not once tugging at her curls. When the hair was sorted, he reached for his scissors. He combed a section, gathered the tips in his hand, inspected them, and then cut. Again and again, he combed, inspected, and cut. When he was satisfied, he washed the hair again.

Sylvia was surprised to find herself relaxing under his hands, trusting in his careful approach. His touch was gentle, but there was more to it. That foreign warmth she had sensed before was enveloping her. It was not her emotion. She had no positive feeling to spare for this Wolf. This warmth came from outside of her soul. Could it be? Was she sensing him? But why would he care about her? What was the nature of his affection? Whatever it may be, for the moment, Sylvia was sure she had nothing to fear. She trusted his warmth. She even trusted that he would hold her properly when he urged her into the cold water a second time. She rested her head in his hands. Her soul was calm in his care.

Sylvia closed her eyes while the Wolf combed through her short curls one final time, and was almost disappointed when he stopped. Turning around, she leaned over the basin to look at her reflection, and found her hair nice and even again. It was thinner on the left side, where it had been pulled, but it was barely visible. A smile spread over her face.

“Thank you.”

The Wolf’s eyes widened ever so little. He nodded, and returned the comb and scissors to their designated section in his leather roll. Sylvia watched him sweep the hair and drain the water. His movements were strong and bulky, but there was something deliberate about them. He was broad and tall, but aware of it. The kitchen looked small around him, but he navigated the space with ease. When he began rolling his sleeves back down, Sylvia inspected his face, the way his eyes focused on exactly what he was doing. He was very present.

“What is your name?”, Sylvia asked.

The Wolf’s head snapped up. His eyes focused on her, but she did not sense the same grim intensity in them as she had back in the alley. His eyes were wide in surprise. He seemed unsure what to do, standing frozen for a second, before rolling his other sleeve down as well and murmuring an answer.

“Afi.”

Sylvia waited for a moment before realising that he did not intend to give her a last name.

“Afi”, she repeated. “I am Sylvia ElenaMarkus”, she offered in turn.

Afi glanced back at her and gave a small nod. “Sylvia.”

It did not seem right to follow common pleasantries, to say ‘nice to meet you’ or ‘my pleasure’, but whatever alternative phrase there may be, neither one of them knew it. They fell back into silence. It was a more comfortable silence than before, Sylvia thought. Afi seemed a lot more human than yesterday. Was that silly? Of course he was a human, but Sylvia had never thought of a bandit as human before. Afi had a way about himself, a personality. He had a presence which could be just as soothing as it could be intimidating. He had a name; a curious one, but a name nonetheless. She wondered if he had any children.