The Traitor's Scent

The winter morning over Frostfang Gorge was quiet and still, with only the distant whisper of the mountain stream flowing beneath a thick crust of river ice. Inside the settlement's timber infirmary, the warm air was scented with drying pine needles, crushed comfrey root, and steaming elderberry infusions. Sierra had spent the early morning hours checking on the six convalescing rogue fighters who had been wounded in the previous week's…