Chapter 137

"YOU'RE HERE."

Dallin manages a smile. "I'm here."

He hasn't realized how worried he's been that Wil wouldn't want him to follow, would resent him for it, until Dallin finds himself standing here in front of Wil.

Not the river, the spot that has come to mean so many things, has become almost expected, has become theirs. The same star-clotted nothing where Dallin first saw Wil tending his threads, working his fingers raw. Only Wil isn't weaving now, isn't doing anything except standing there and looking at Dallin. Waiting.

It's strange, because Dallin is still dressed in muddy trousers and blood-caked coat, still wet, still has his weapons strapped in place. His hair is still dripping from melting ice, a nagging itch as the miniscule trickles wander down his scalp.