A weight hung over the pack of Wullferg Keep for the next four days. No one spoke of it. But nearly everyone slowed down when they passed that hallway, lingering for a moment to stare at the only locked door.

Dray sought Rek out on the fourth day.

"How is she?" They were outside, taking down the washing.

"I haven't seen her today, but Caimdon was in this morning. He said she seemed... better. More talkative at least."

More talkative meant very little. She hadn't spoken a word for the first two days.

"What did she say?"

"Asked for me to bring more yarn."

"I suppose it's a good thing she's doing something." Dray unpinned a bedsheet, folding it slowly. "Do you think she'll run again?"

Rek didn't answer. His whole attention seemed to be on a hole in a pair of trousers.

"How does Fisk always manage to shred his clothing? I just mended these."

"Rek..."

Rek sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I think there's a chance she won't, but not because she's content or anything." He stopped, holding a half-folded shirt. "Do you remember the day Leng realized he could never carry out the full duties of a Redmoon priest again?"

Dray did. They all did. It had been like watching someone die.

Leng's injuries were far more severe than he'd been willing to believe, and it had taken both Kowser and a high priest to convince that he couldn't return to his full position. That had been it for Leng. All the fire went out of him.

"So," Dray's voice was too tight. "So... I broke her."

Rek gave him a sad smile. "I think we all did."

☽

The first time someone tried to talk to Emily, she threw a chair at them. She'd heard them fumbling with the doorknob and had grabbed the nearest object. In the small, barren room there hadn't been many options. The table was too heavy and there wasn't even a real bed frame.

She didn't bother finding out who it was or what they were doing before she threw the chair. But the string of curses after the impact gave Rek away. He didn't try coming in again that night. He was probably bringing food. Emily didn't quite care.

It was a long night. Emily started to think.

How long was she going to be stuck in there? Was this her new room? Was she now well and truly a prisoner? Even worse than her thoughts was the gnawing hunger that twisted up inside her. She slept at some point, but it was restless and troubled. There was no light in the room, not even a candle, and the heavy darkness pressed against her eyes every time she opened them. And with the darkness came the cold. There were blankets, but not nearly enough to keep her comfortably warm.

Faint light was peeking through the small window, high in the wall, when she heard someone at the door once more. She sat up slowly, staring at the door.

This time, Rek pushed the door open and stood to the side for a moment.

"Are you hungry enough to not attack me?"

Emily glared at him but didn't move.

Rek sighed and stepped inside. He set a tray of food on the little table and leaned up against the wall.

"I'm not leaving until you eat. I don't trust you to not starve yourself out of spite." He pulled a piece of knitting out of his pocket and started working on it, still watching Emily out of the corner of his eye.

So now they won't even let me eat in peace? A part of her was tempted to see how long it would take Rek to give up. The other part of her, namely her very empty stomach, urged her over to the table. The food was nothing fancy, oatmeal, sausage, and tea, but there was lots of it.

"So..." Rek didn't look up from his work. "Do you want to talk or do I just get the silent treatment?"

Don't answer him. Don't do it. It's not that cold, you'll be fine.

Emily finished eating in silence, put her spoon down with great finality, and turned to stare Rek down.

Rek waited five minutes before sighing heavily and shoving his knitting back into his pocket. "Fine. Fine. I see how it is." He picked up the tray, grumbling in wolvish. He started out the door, pausing at the last moment. "This isn't a prison cell. It's an isolation room we put out of control wolves in until they calm down and come to their senses." He didn't get a response. "Let us know if you need anything." The door shut.

Kowser brought her stew for lunch. He didn't seem bothered by her silent treatment in the least.

"Congratulations on being considered as dangerous as a wolfkin. Not everyone gets the privilege of being locked up." He was sitting on the floor next to the table, looking just as comfortable as he would've been on a rug in front of a fire.

"Why was it you decided so suddenly to run away?"

Emily froze, spoon halfway to her mouth.

Kowser watched closely. "It was a sudden decision, wasn't it? Not very well thought out if you ask me. I think it's strange that no one seems to be asking why you up and left like that, why you were so frantic to not be brought back."

He knows. The realization hovered alone in her mind for half a second. Followed by a thousand other questions she was afraid to ask.

"Which of course is why I brought this." He held up a small satchel. "Fisk seemed very sure that you would have some injuries that needed looking at after the scrap you were in." His green eyes glimmered gold on the edges. "I'll take a look if you want."

"I don't think anything's broken."

Kowser smiled. "Ah, so you haven't been struck dumb. That's good." He sprung to his feet. "Broken bones aside, bruises are pretty painful on their own." He pulled a small pot out of his bag. "This should help with the healing process. It smells nice too."

Emily was halfway out of her chair, a knot in her throat and funny weight in her stomach. "Why--how do you--" She blinked hard. "If you know, why haven't you said anything?"

Kowser smiled again, and Emily had never seen something so broken and hopeless before. "Has anyone told you about dominance and pack ranking yet? It's awfully fun."

Emily shook her head.

"I guess I get the lovely job of doing that then. But let's get some of this salve on you. Getting hit by Halowick is no little tap on the hand, trust me, I know. He knocked one of my teeth out once. Course that was in a sparring match so he didn't get in any trouble, but it still hurt like a bitch."

Emily pulled off her sweater, taking as long as she thought wouldn't seem weird. A new brand of unease was growing in her on top of everything else she had tormenting her. She would have to undress for him to look at her back. He would have to put the salve on as well. Quit, he's a healer. He's attended to plenty of wounds in awkward locations. He's probably helped with countless births as well. It's not weird.

"Here." Kowser held up one of her blankets as a makeshift curtain.

Relief and shame flooded through her. "Thanks." She should've known better. He was a healer. They always had strict moral codes, no matter what culture they were from.

She pulled off her shirt, wincing at the cold. If she held it up against her chest and tucked her arms in it was modest enough.

"Alright."

Kowser dropped the blanket. "Oof. Yeah. That's--that's a bad one."

I figured, from the horrible throbbing pain. She heard Kowser take the lid off the pot of salve and tensed in anticipation. It was colder than she expected and smelled strongly of mint.

"So, dominance. It's sort of like force of personality, but not exactly the same. The most dominant wolf is the Alpha. If a significantly more dominant wolf gives a less dominant wolf a direct order, they can't disobey them. Dray of course is our Alpha." Kowser's hands were gentle without lingering in any weird way.

Emily slowly started to relax.

"So lets say a wolf high up in the chain of command, maybe second in command, forces the rest of the pack to keep secrets for him. There's not much they can do."

"Is it magic?"

"Sort of. A very primal magic that can't really be controlled. It just is. Turn so I can get your arm."

Emily did as she was told. She could see the salve now; it was a strange dull orange color.

"And there's also submissives. That's what Fisk and Rowan are. They're pretty rare and--as the name implies--on the bottom of the pack. But they're valuable enough for Fisk's parents to worry about him being kidnapped."

"What? Is that why he's here?"

"Yep. You have to wait to put your shirt on so the salve can absorb a bit."

Emily turned to face him, shivering slightly in the cold. "Why are they so valuable?"

"They can calm wolfkin when their wolf side starts to get out of control. If a pack has a good submissive, they'll have a lot less fights, first shifts will be less painful, pregnancies will be easier."

"Pregnancies?"

"Wolfkin can't shift when they're pregnant. There are ways to keep them from doing so, but it's difficult. They get a little--" He paused. "A little riled up. This is all very simplified, but it's sort of hard to explain to someone who isn't--well--a wolfkin."

"I figured." She stared at the floor, trying not to shake too badly. Maybe I should ask him for more blankets? Was she really going to give in that easily?

"You can probably put your shirt on now." Kowser turned his back to her, rocking on the balls of his feet while he waited.

Emily scrambled back into her clothes, cringing as her shirt stuck slightly to the salve. "I'm decent."

"I doubt you're ever decent." Kowser turned back with a grin. He picked up the tray and started towards the door.

"How long do I have to stay in here?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "How long are you going to throw chairs at people and refuse to speak to us?"

"I spoke to you."

"Ah, but that's because I had something you wanted. Information and sympathy. I still don't trust you not to try and run away or gouge out someone's eyes again. Is that an unfounded belief?"

"Yes!" Emily did everything she could to sound sincere.

Kowser smiled ruefully. "You and I both know that was a lie. Someone will be by with dinner tonight. Have fun mulling over your bad decisions." He closed the door with a snap, leaving Emily alone in the small dim room.

Dinner seemed to be days away. Emily tried to sleep to pass away the time, but a restlessness stirred within her, spurring her to her feet to pace as best she could in the small room. Time to think was never a good thing for her. She needed distraction, craved it. Full days swept by like autumn leaves but slow days with long times of solitude were filled with nebulous thoughts and doubts that crept out of darkened corners. Loneliness and sorrow began to well up in her chest, a crushed weight against her lungs.

No, not again. No more crying. She was tired of crying. Time to think of something else, anything else.

How dare they keep me in this room? That was better.

Did they think I wouldn't try to run away? Especially since everyone except Dray seems to know what a beast Halowick is? The coals of rage began to flare up as Emily heaped more wood onto her stricken heart. Why do they even want to keep me here? Alive? Is this amusing for them? Am I some exotic animal they want to observe?

Emily stopped dead in the middle of the room. Her thoughts had run somewhere she hadn't wanted. But who could be surprised that they'd run wild when she'd given them such a long leash?

It hadn't escaped her notice that she was the only woman at the Keep. How was she supposed to ask about that though? There had to be a reason there weren't any; was it Halowick? Was he the reason there were so few living at the Keep in general? Do they want to keep me here as a--no, they would've done something already. Unless... unless they're hoping--or planning--on marrying me off to one of them at some point. They could just be playing nice. They didn't all hate humans the way Halowick did. It wasn't a completely unreasonable theory, was it?

Well, if they thought she would go along with any of it...

The pacing began again in earnest. Rage bubbled up in scalding fury till Emily's hands shook. She was so angry it hurt. But anger was better than tears. You were never called weak for being angry, but tears would have you mocked or dismissed as irrational.

By the time the door opened for a third time that day, the figure on the other side was in great danger of having a chair thrown at them once more. Only the threat of more days in solitude kept Emily from violence. She was prepared for remaining in silent fury or perhaps treating her guest to a few choice words. But when she saw who it was, a tinge of unease bloomed in her chest.

It was Caimdon.

Scratch marks still showed on his pale skin. One was particularly deep right under his left eye, and Emily was sure it would scar. Good.

But had he come to get back at her?

"Hello!" Caimdon grinned, giving her a small wave and nearly dropping the tray of food in his hands as did so.

Emily stepped back against the far wall. "Hi."

He set the food down on the table and leaned up against the wall, tapping his hands on his legs.

"You can go now," Emily said, more hopeful than anything.

Caimdon shook his head. "You're never allowed to leave someone in isolation until you've seen them eat. And I'm pretty familiar with the rule because it was put in place because of me."

Emily stared at him for a moment. Okay then. She sat down at the table and started eating. She wasn't really hungry, but she wanted him to leave. It was uncomfortable enough to begin with, but then he didn't talk. Is he trying to be intimidating? Or just unnerving? The seed of fear took root and began to grow.

"What?" Emily snapped, glaring at Caimdon.

He jumped. "What? I didn't say anything."

"I know! Any reason for the silence? Everyone else has been trying to drag conversation out of me! You don't have a bone to pick or anything?"

"Oh. Well." Caimdon rocked on the balls of his feet and looked at a point somewhere under the table. "Most of the time when people are in here they don't like to talk. I didn't. Arrech doesn't. Oberkon never talks much in general."

Emily took a few more bites of food, trying to decide if she wanted to remain silent and angry or succumb to curiosity.

"How much... How much time have you spent in isolation?"

"Forty eight full days."

She stopped mid bite. "How do you know that off the top of your head?"

"Halowick brings me a rock for every day I'm in."

"A rock?" From Halowick? Is he one of his henchmen? She hadn't seen him hanging around Halowick much.

"Strange ones. Crystals too. I like to collect them. Nyrell found some books that identify them and now I'm working on finding one of every kind."

Emily nodded slowly. So much for the silent treatment. She couldn't believe she'd been drawn in by rocks. He seemed too--nice was the only word for it--too nice to be an ally of Halowick. But Fisk also said that unstable wolves get sent here. He didn't seem unstable exactly, but certainly a little off.

"How long have you been at the Keep?"

"I started visiting sixteen years ago but I didn't come live here until eight years ago."

"And you were... how old?"

"Sixteen."

Emily did some quick math before asking her next question. "Why did you start visiting?" It was the wrong question. The easy openness that rested in Caimdon's face snapped shut like a trap. His eyes flashed gold as he stared at the far side of the room.

"There were issues. With my pack."

"Ah." Emily focused intently on her food. Well that was a mistake. A really big mistake. She could feel the well of anger she'd opened start to overflow. She finished eating as quickly as she could and only pulled Caimdon from his brooding when she was attempting to usher him out the door. He left with a muttered goodbye, still seemingly not paying much attention to her.

Emily stared at the closed door once he left, filled with unease. So, Caimdon wasn't as nice and cheerful as he seemed to be. But where does he stand with Halowick?

Somehow Emily slept that night. But it was restless and her dreams were pierced by things with hungry mouths, animal and man, and time and again she awoke with a start. The weak morning light was a relief, even if it just barely lit the room. She was more than ready for breakfast and whatever company it would bring with. Maybe I should try and butter them up so I can get out of this hellhole. Changing rooms wouldn't let her escape from nightmares, but at least she wouldn't wake to find herself in a small, dark, chilly room.

She didn't even consider violence when she heard someone approach the door. She sat up on her bed, trying not to look too eager as she smoothed down her hair and waited for the door to open.

"Good morning, Emily."

She was on her feet in an instant, but there was nowhere to run.

Halowick slipped into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. "I trust your stay here has been pleasant?" He was smiling faintly, watching her with sharp eyes. He set the tray of food on the table and swung the chair around. Sitting in it backwards, he folded his arms over the top and rested his chin.

Emily stayed frozen, heart in her throat.

"Nice call, throwing a chair at Rek. It definitely makes you seem like someone the pack should spend their time and resources taking care of. The silent treatment is predictable, but no less effective." He grinned. "Keep it up, please. They won't miss you as much when you're dead." He paused, staring at her. "Do I get any response? Even a whimper?" He waited.

Don't react. Don't do it. She hoped her shaking wasn't noticeable.

"Fine then." Halowick stood and kicked the chair aside. It clattered to the floor as he surged across the room.

Emily staggered back with a cry, tripping over her blanket and crashing against the wall. Before she could get to her feet, Halowick froze.

He wasn't smiling, and somehow that was worse. His eyes had gone pale, pale blue and filled in the whites.

"That's better." He crouched to be eye level with her. "Now, I suggest you stay in here a bit longer. Four or five days is a respectable time to stay in isolation after what you've done. If you'd had just slightly sharper claws I think you would've blinded Caimdon." He cocked his head and continued almost absentmindedly. "It's probably a good thing you didn't. I'd would've killed you before you even made it into the Keep." He stood and turned. "I'll see you later, Emily. I may even bring you your next meal."

Emily didn't eat.

Halowick didn't follow up on his threat. Rek brought her lunch. He didn't look at her as he switched out the trays of food. Emily didn't blame him. She'd be too ashamed to live if she just stood by and watched Halowick treat someone the way he treated her.

"This should help pass the time." Rek dropped a satchel at her feet. "I suggest making a quilt." He took his place against the wall and started knitting as Emily looked in the bag.

She found a pair of fine bone knitting needles and three large skeins of yarn, one yellow, one grey, and one dark blue. Emily tried to swallow past the tightness in her throat and chest. He's just trying to make himself feel less guilty. If he really wanted to help me he would do something about Halowick. There was no way everything kowser had said could be completely true. It was too dangerous to be true.

She managed to eat most of her food--once again half hearted stew and tough bread. Rek didn't say a word.

The next day passed in a haze. Emily ate and slept and knitted and didn't speak to anyone. Each time the door opened, she was sure it would be Halowick, but it never was. Caimdon came again and did his very best to start a conversation. Emily wanted nothing to do with him. Kowser came the next morning to see how she was healing. He didn't say anything, but his hands were gentle. Fisk brought lunch. He couldn't look Emily in the eye either. By the time dinner came on her fourth day in isolation, Emily had a whole host of knitted squares and a half suppressed madness brewing in her head. Maybe not even half suppressed. She had intended on putting yellow flowers in the middle of each square, but they had all turned into eyes.

Emily didn't look up when Rek came in with dinner, partly because she didn't feel like it and partly because she knew he felt guilty. And the more pathetic she seemed the guiltier he felt. The despair had morphed once more into a strange vindictive anger. If she had to be miserable, everyone else could be as well.

"I brought dinner." Rek said, completely unnecessarily, and nodded towards the tray in his hands.

Emily sat down her knitting and prepared herself to be disappointed. It wasn't that the food was bad, but it certainly wasn't very good. No one seemed to know what seasonings were and there was very little variety from day to day.

Ah yes, stew and bread. How surprising.

Rek picked up one of her granny squares while she ate, eyeing it critically. "They're a little lumpy but you have nearly half a blanket here." He stared at the yellow eyes for a long moment. "I think you can come out tonight."

Emily stopped, her spoon halfway to her mouth. "Really?" Her voice was hoarse.

Rek nodded as he slowly gathered up her knitting and put it back into the satchel. "Anyone else would've been let out yesterday."

"I see." She set her spoon down carefully, making sure it laid just so on the tray. "Can I cook something?"

"Cook something? But--" He stopped. "It's pretty bad, isn't it?"

"It's despair in a bowl."

Rek mused for a moment, yarn still in hand. "Can I make a request?"

"I'll make you anything you want." Emily had never wanted to cook more in her life. If it put her in Rek's good graces as well, so be it. She could stand to curry a little favor. At least one person would miss her when she was dead.

"Do you know what a nyagzi bun is?"

☽