Although Elowyn had never stepped foot outside the harsh, jagged ridges of her native mountain, even an isolated clan like the IronFang knew the legends of the distant Capital. It was described as a grand, mythic place where refined beastfolk lived in warm, sprawling stone houses, wore soft silk robes and spoke with cultured grace.
However, to those same noble beastfolk, mountain dwellers like Elowyn herself were viewed as nothing but filth. In their eyes, the tribes were nothing but wild, violent primitives.
Elowyn had grown up believing that the Capital was a dangerous fairytale, a place meant to terrify mountain folk. The late Chieftainess had drilled the warning into her since childhood: stay away from the lowlands, and never, under any circumstances, trust their people.
Yet, as she looked at the Fox healer, his pristine posture, his effortless grace, and the surgical precision of his gentle hands, the truth hit her with devastating clarity.
Elowyn pulled her knees tight against her chest, a sudden, heavy shame settling over her. In his presence, she felt filthy, her hair matted with ash and snow, her skin stained with grime, and her hands calloused from hard labor.
How could she have been so blind?
The fox healer was far too refined, far too quiet, and far too clean to be an ordinary mountain dweller.
But... if the Capital folk were truly the ruthless, cold-hearted monsters the late Chieftainess had always warned them about... why had this man carried two strangers out of a blizzard and healed their wounds?
"If you truly hail from the lowlands," she whispered. "Why would someone like you be out here in the middle of a mountain storm?"
The fox healer’s amber gaze drifted toward her, taking in her slumped shoulders and the way her eyes darted to her feet.
He let out a quiet sigh, the hot breath curling like mist before he turned his attention back to the coals. "Let us simply say...perhaps my sole purpose for traversing these peaks was to rescue you and your husband."
HUSBAND?!
His words struck Elowyn like a lightning bolt.
She stiffened, her face instantly burning hot enough to melt the surrounding snow. She scrambled, waving her hands in a panic."N-no, you’ve got it all wrong. He’s not my husband!"
"Is he not?" the healer tilted his head, a single brow arching with quiet intrigue.
"No-no! Not at all!" Elowyn shook her head so fast her tangled hair whipped her cheeks. "We’re not together. I’ve never seen him before in my life. I don’t even know his name!"
"Yet you bound him to a harness and pulled him through a lethal blizzard," the healer noted, his voice laced with faint disbelief at her selflessness. "You were prepared to freeze to death so a stranger might live?"
Elowyn shrank back slightly, offering a small, self-deprecating shrug.
She knew how foolish it sounded. But she hadn’t done it to seek gratitude, to demand favors, or to prove herself to anyone out there. She was painfully aware of what her people said behind her back, and directly to her face. In their eyes, she was merely a shiftless runt, a weak, formless defect who brought nothing of value to the IronFang tribe. Find the original chapter at NovelPing.
But.. back there, when she brushed the snow from his face, she hadn’t seen a complete stranger. She had seen a soul clinging to life with every fiber of his being.
She remembered asking the late Chieftainess why she had bothered raising a child who couldn’t shift or do anything remarkable in the tribe. But her former leader had smiled warmly and placed a calloused hand on her shoulder, reminding her of the IronFang’s oldest Cardinal rules.
No beast is left behind.
Under the reign of the current Chieftainess, Nysa, those old ways had been buried beneath spite and ambition, and that did not exclude Elowyn. She had almost forgotten the former leader’s teachings amid the bitterness of her exile, but looking at the stranger bleeding in the snow had reignited it all.
Whatever her tribe had become under Nysa’s rule, Elowyn knew the late Chieftainess would have chosen mercy.
She lifted her head, meeting the Fox healer’s calm amber eyes for the first time in minutes, a subtle twinkle warming her own.
"Let us simply say...perhaps my sole purpose for being out here was to save him."
The healer blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by her response.
He turned his gaze back to the crackling fire, his thin lips curving into a soft, almost sorrowful smile that faded as quickly as it had appeared.
To Elowyn’s shocking delight, he picked up three more sizzling skewers from the coals. Her eyes went round as saucers at the sight of such unearned wealth.
"Take these," he murmured, laying the skewers neatly across a fresh, broad palm leaf. "You will need to rebuild your strength."
"A-are you sure?"
Her voice wavered with polite hesitation, but her fingers were already wrapping around the wooden stick before the words fully left her lips.
Realizing that this refined Fox healer possessed a gentle, compassionate soul behind his stoic poise, Elowyn leaned forward, eager and determined.
"Mr. Fox Healer, if it isn’t a burden..." she offered, her eyes shining with earnest ambition. "Would you be willing to teach me how to prepare this? The spices, the herbs, the fire temperature— everything? You won’t have to break a sweat! I’ll haul the wood, fetch the water, and scrape the roots myself."
The Fox healer stared at her, taking in the fierce, unyielding resolve etched into every line of her young face, and a genuine, fond smile broke through his quiet reserve.
*******
Over the next four days, Elowyn proved herself to be a remarkably eager student.
Under the Fox healer’s patient guidance, her hands quickly learned the craft. She memorized spots where she could find the specific herbs needed, mastered the precise stones used to grind dried roots into fine, savory spices, and brewed bitter concoctions that kept the stranger’s poison at bay. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
When the healer left the shelter to scout the high cliff, Elowyn remained at the camp, dutifully guarding their small sanctuary. She kept the fire roaring and meticulously wiped the cold sweat from the silver-haired stranger’s brows,even listening closely to his slow, steady breathing and praying he would open his eyes soon.
During the quiet, solitary hours, she set to work on herself.
She had carried warm water to a dark alcove behind the boulder, meticulously scrubbing away the caked grime, dried blood, and bitter memories of her exile until her skin felt whole again.
Using a makeshift bone-needle and sinew thread, she carefully stitched the ripped seams of her tunic and reinforced the frayed cloth along her collarbones.
Life in the IronFang tribe had taught her early that no one was coming to save her. If her boots split, she had to repair them. If her clothes tore, she had to sew them. That lifetime of forced self-reliance was the very reason she soaked up the healer’s lesson like a starved sponge, because eventually, they’d have to go their separate ways, and she refused to ever be a useless weight on anyone else’s shoulders.
Now clean, carefully patched, and armed with a newfound confidence, Elowyn sat cross-legged near the hearth. She looked over at the still-unconscious stranger, feeling a steady, grounded strength taking root in her chest.
It was almost surreal.
Just days ago, she had been entirely convinced she would perish out in the unforgiving, snowy wilderness, another nameless casualty of the mountain. Yet here she was, alive and safe.
Her ancestors must truly be walking beside her, guiding her steps through the dark.
While she was busy stitching a frayed seam in her corner, a faint, low groan broke the quiet shelter.
Elowyn’s needle froze mid-stitch. She looked up instantly, her heart slamming against her ribs as she saw the silver-haired stranger shifting beneath his fur blankets. His jaw was clenched in pain, his muscles straining as he pressed his palms against the bedding, stubbornly forcing his upper body off the pallet.
He was awake!
Panic and excitement hit Elowyn simultaneously. She set her sewing aside and scrambled across the floor, dropping to her knees a safe distance beside him.
"Please, do not move so much!" she pleaded, her voice trembling with earnest concern. "Your wounds haven’t healed, and I was told the poison has barely left your system!"
At the sound of her voice, the stranger went dead silent.
His broad shoulders stiffened, his long locks of silver-white hair tumbling over his forehead. Slowly, he lifted his chin, forcing Elowyn to lock gazes with a pair of impossible liquid-gold eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. Their sweeping, almond shape granted his sharp face an inherently seductive, almost cat-like elegance. It was a color so luminous it felt like looking at forbidden magic.
It was entirely inappropriate to be mesmerized by a complete stranger, but his cold, lethal beauty paralyzed her completely.
"Who are you?"
The icy demand cut straight through the cozy warmth of the fire. His voice was low and gravelly from disuse, yet it echoed with absolute unyielding authority. Those golden eyes slitted, pinning her in place with a cold, terrifying intensity like he was calculating whether she was a friend or foe.