Arc 3: Chapter 9: Winter Lingers
“It shouldn’t be this cold still,” Maxim said, pulling his fur cloak tighter. “Spring should have come by now.”
I blew out a frosting breath into the morning. “It’s not the first time we’ve had a long winter.”
The old knight shook his head, his gray face contracted into a deep frown. “I… feel it. You’re too young, but the oldest of us were able to sense these things. When spring arrived, it filled us with strength. When the leaves began to turn, the onset of winter would sharpen us. I felt spring come two weeks back…”
He waved a hand to the white woods. “But the cold just won’t let go. It feels like a fist, gripping tight.”
I glanced at Oraeka, seeing my worry mirrored in the elf’s eyes. Maxim had been getting better, but he still dipped into these bouts of manic melancholy and prophetic doom on occasion. Every day, we watched for another violent fit.
Without Rysanthe, I wasn’t certain I could bring him back from another one. There’d still been no word from the other Doomsman.
“It’s an ill sign,” Maxim murmured, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. “All ill. All sick.” He turned around and stalked back into the cottage, muttering to himself.
“He may be right,” Oraeka said once the knight had closed the door behind him, leaving us in the snowy yard. She glanced down at me from her near seven feet of height, her lips pressed tight to hide her wolf's fangs. “This winter has fangs.”
I sniffed and turned to face the hillside leading down to the shrine. “You’ll find evil omens anywhere you look for them, Oraeka. The happy man sees roses, and the grim one sees thorns.”
The Sidhe warrior fell into step next to me, stooping slightly as she passed beneath a low hanging branch. “Lillian Crath. I did not think you read the works of philosophers.”
I paused as we reached the bottom of the hill, folding my arms to bring the folds of my cloak more tightly together. “Fidei used to read to me. Crath was one of her favorites.”