Olive didn't continue goading him. She just watched, trying not to glare, as he built the smoky fire outside of the cave. And she didn't speak with him again while they waited. She didn't even return to the cave, despite the cold biting at her skin. The silence between the two seemed gaping as they waited. The only sound that broke it was the periodic whistle Olive gave to guide their hopefully rescuers.
It took a few hours, but eventually three figures appeared on the edge of the forest. Two horses riders, and a third, riderless horse. Olive's heart leapt. Wait. Olive looked again. It was four figures. The two riders, the horse, and a white wolf. The same one? Silently, she blessed it, either way. The riderless horse, Olive saw as they drew nearer, was Kentamin's and it followed nearby the taller rider without lead or rope.
The riders sighted the cave and, with a nod from the taller one, the wolf loped away, disappearing into the forest. It didn't take long for the riders to reach the cave from the forest's edge. They were both men, by their looks both in the mid- to late thirties. One was tall for a Connlaothian, and somewhat gaunt, with graying blonde hair and bright, blue-gray eyes. The other was of more typical Connlaothian build, with brown hair and eyes, and a more fiery countenance.
Once they were near the first man, Silas Greene, dismounted and in one motion pulled Olive into his arms. "Thank God," he muttered. "We feared the worst."
The second man, Roderick Alder, was off his horse only half a moment after Silas. But his attention wasn't on Olive. The click of him cocking his handcannon, which was already aimed at Kentamin. "Great to see you in one piece, Olive. Who's your friend?"