The wind came from the eastern continent, with no idea where it would end up.
He remembered a pair of amber eyes. He remembered the way they looked at him, and the words they had spoken. That was in another lifetime. Back then, they were both young. They met between bookshelves and took a long time to find their way to each other.
Now he was five years old.
Lupia, a Roma in another world. The Senate, legions, the system of beloveds, the Twelve Main Gods.
He was bought and brought to a mansion with stone steps and covered walkways, olive trees and fountains. A nine-year-old black wolf cub crouched in front of him and asked, "Are you afraid of me?"
The cub had amber eyes. He recognized those eyes, but they did not recognize him.
The wind settled in the wolf's courtyard. There were four seasons and festivals, kitchen ledgers and guest registries, arguments in the Senate and wind blowing in from distant lands. There was no world-ending crisis, no world in need of saving. There were only the days. Two people living those days, each walking their own path, slowly drawing closer, slowly wearing one thing down into another.
He remembered what the other would become. But he couldn't rush things.
The wind came from the eastern continent. It settled in the wolf's courtyard. Once it had settled, it never left.
