To a seven-year-old girl, the gates of Aventhal are oppressive and magnificent. The translucent icestone seemed to stretch for a mile or more, gleaming brightly as a ray of sunlight landed on the archway exit. Her whole life was about to change, and she was mad that her father wanted them to go to another land. A glass city couldn’t ever compare to the warmth of the fires in the Snowsong hold, in the great halls where bards told their tales of grand hunting parties and jesters of affection displaying tokens and rolling around together on the ground a lot. The love songs were confusing to her, except for the music that filled her ears always felt comforting.
Tears began to well up, and Nadjia pulled the deep pine colored cloak shut allowing the fur to nuzzle up to her nose while the sound of her boots crackling against the snow and bits of ice conceal the sniffling. She looked back in time to see her Great Uncle Kaj standing guard, he nodded once, his eyes turning from deep amber to the blue of the icestone, then smiled. She swore the big, scary polar bear near him winked at her. The three of them kept walking until they reached the Hunter’s Lodge.
The traveling party was small, but efficient. Vegard, her father’s longtime friend, navigated everyone through the most treacherous parts of the terrain. His son Kent was content to look after Nadjia and her mother, readjusting their packs, wrapping the tops of their walking sticks to make them more comfortable, and providing a laugh or two. Hours passed and Nadjia had no idea just how far south they travelled. The layers of her cloth, fur, and leather clothing chafed as fatigue set in.
Eventually, they made camp for the night. After a quick meal, they huddled close to the fire and her mother broke out in song. Nadjia pulled the small rattle that Master Parr taught her to use and tried to keep to the song’s rhythm. She would miss that funny man and his cluttered workshop, but especially the meat candy he would offer on occasion. Everyone said it was the best place in all of Mizahar to purchase fine instruments. Nadjia believed it as the fiddles and lutes along the walls never looked the same to her.
Nadjia
