Priskil's Pond, Winter 513 AV
It was the night the snow burned. The moon was full and bathed the sleeping pond in a harsh glare, casting even harsher shadows around every tree and wagon as the members of the caravan moved about the nightly business.
Imellion shivered in her clothes, far too thin for a night such as this, and huddled farther into the filthy straw of her wagon. In normal situations, it would have reeked, but her nose too frozen to tell. Another shiver tore at her body and she clutched her legs tighter. It made no difference in holding in the heat.
"Imel!" Jaxen, her adoptive father, called through the night. "Get the firewood, you stupid girl! Don’t have time for you to mope about!" He stomped into view, snow flecking his beard and furs, his voice softening, “I’ll have some food ready when you return.”
Imellion unbunched herself from her seat, brushing away the straw and dropped out of the wagon. She bit her lip as her feet touched the snow, cold biting instantly through the cloth and leather she had wrapped them in. The pain raged like a cold flame for several moments before dimming, and she realized they were going numb.
She stamped them in the snow and bit her lip again as they began to tingle. Imellion staggered forward, pushing herself through the snow, towards the forest that loomed around them. She could not remember how long they had been in these woods, but endless days of walking alongside the wagon through trees, stopping sometimes to forage and relive themselves.
She stopped at the edge of the treeline and tilted her head. There was something different in how this patch of wood felt. It felt like home, full of love and respect, perhaps even something more. Something kindled in her heart, like a tiny flame.
Her footsteps were a little lighter after that and the burning pain not as bad as she strode into the woods, wandering in a loose circle around the pond. She paused, squinting into the shadows to try and see what lay within them amid the tree trunks.
Sticks and branches, snapped by the winter, had fallen to lie half-buried within the drifts. Imellion slogged towards the nearest branch, shivering as the snow melted against her body. The warmth of the forest vanished this far into the woods, replaced by a sharp that screamed through the branches and froze Imellion to her bones.
She knelt, however, and buried her hands into the snow to grab the branch, fingers hurting as she wrapped them around it. Her feet plunged through the snow-crust and she toppled over.Snow cascaded over like a small tidal wave, getting in her mouth and eyes. Imellion shuddered and rose again, swaying on her feet as the snow cascaded down around her feet.
What if she just stayed out there? The thought intrigued her. She pictured herself running out into the woods, surviving off what she found and being free to run through the woods and dwell by this pond that felt of home.
Something snapped nearby and she jolted alert, eyes scanning the forest. A clump of snow fell from a nearby tree as the branch plummeted to the ground. She considered the fantasy of running free and her shoulders slumped. It would never work and certainly not in this weather. She did not have the supplies. Her only chance of survival depended on the caravan and that depended on fire.
“Oh, Priskil,” Imellion breathed out, “Help me endure.” She stood for a few more moments, staring at the woods. Shadows moved in the distance, or so it seemed, but she couldn’t tell what they were. After another few moments, Imellion shrugged and trudged towards a dark shape in the snow. Another cluster of branches that she gathered up and stored under her arm, wincing as wind picked up again and flung snow-powder into her face. The crystals glittered in the moonlight and Imellion’s breath caught in her throat.
It was beautiful, that curtain that hung there in cold night air, shining with a white moonlit flame, and then it was gone, plunging the woods back into tree-cast shadows. Imellion stayed there for several long moments, breath held, in case that moment, that tiny in-breath moment of magic.
It did not return. The night even began to feel like it had grown colder as she shook incessantly now, no matter how tightly she pulled her clothes tighter around her body. Voices echoed back from the caravan encampment, laughing and jesting in some cases, others harsh and angry. Each angry voice cut through her like a whiplash and she froze in place.
The bundle of sticks nearly fell from her arms, she trembled so strongly. She clutched at them before turning around to trudge back to the camp. Jaxen was waiting for her, she could see, and her stomach roiled at the thought of what might happen for taking so long.
Her feet were numb as she entered the clearing again, snow-sodden and eyelashes coated in crystals. Jaxen had arranged a small circle of stones and had his fire-starter out, along with some old cloth for kindling.
Imellion dropped the firewood beside him and then sank to the semi-cleared ground around him. The branches fell in a clatter, which Jaxen viewed with a scowl, but turned away to begin setting up the fire. Imellion watched as he made a nest of the kindling, shaving off pieces of bark with his dagger and taking twigs off larger branches. Jaxen placed several pieces of the cloth in the center and took out his flint and steel, soon striking the stone against the metal, scattering sparks against the small nest.
Imellion saw the sparks as shooting stars, stars that burned and fell to the ground below, fizzing out against the snow. But some landed on the small fire and Jaxen leaned forward, blowing gently until they hold of the tinder. Imellion leaned forward and blew gently as Jaxen arranged slightly larger twigs against the pile, watching as they caught and then placing larger sticks.
As the small flames began to flicker and grow, hungrily grabbing for more food, Imellion felt a warm tingle begin in her hands. She placed a larger branch atop the pile as the twigs began to burn. The rest of her body began to feel a faint warmth and she moved closer. Jaxen nodded and began setting the largest chunks of wood on the fire, which quickly grew into a full fire that radiated warmth and light. He set hunks of bread near the edge, on the stones, and scopped snow into a pot which he hung above the fire.
Imellion crouched at the edge of the stones, trying to hold on as tightly as possible to the warmth.
“Jaxen!” A voice snarled, “Get your girl away from here. We need to talk!”
Both Jaxen and Imellion turned in surprise as Krith approached, the stocky caravan captain’s face impassive. Imellion turned to Jaxen, who gave a slow nod and she stood and hurried into the darkness far enough away to be unable to hear what they said.
After the warmth of the fire, the night was even crueler beneath the branches that clawed the snow from the sky. She could just make out a quiet murmur of conversation, suddenly punctuated by explosive remarks from one man or the other.
The glow from the fire quickly faded and she shivered once more, hair whipping about her face in the wind. This was unusual. Krith rarely paid her enough attention to send her away, let alone acknowledge that she was there. She grabbed her necklace and clutched it tightly, mouth moving in a silent prayer whose words she couldn’t find. All she could do was watch as the moon and stars wheeled above in their own journeys.
She knew one thing though. Whatever would happen, would happen, regardless of what she did. She saw the figure of Krith stomp off and Jaxen rose to give her a quick back to the fire. Imellion hurried over, pausing at seeing his face.
Fear twisted in her gut as he gestured for her to take a seat. There was genuine sorrow in his eyes and he seemed so much older all of a sudden. He slumped back to take a seat, which Imellion echoed, still staring at him.
“What’s wrong?” She finally managed to croak out, noticing something glimmer in the corner of his eyes. Tears? Was he actually crying about something? A lump grew in her throat as possibilities ran through her mind. He shook his head and coughed to clear his throat, adjusting the bread and pot by the fire. He handed her a chunk of bread and added more snow to the pot.
“Yer to be sold in Sunberth,” He finally choked out, staring at the fire. “Highest bidder.”
.
It was the night the snow burned. The moon was full and bathed the sleeping pond in a harsh glare, casting even harsher shadows around every tree and wagon as the members of the caravan moved about the nightly business.
Imellion shivered in her clothes, far too thin for a night such as this, and huddled farther into the filthy straw of her wagon. In normal situations, it would have reeked, but her nose too frozen to tell. Another shiver tore at her body and she clutched her legs tighter. It made no difference in holding in the heat.
"Imel!" Jaxen, her adoptive father, called through the night. "Get the firewood, you stupid girl! Don’t have time for you to mope about!" He stomped into view, snow flecking his beard and furs, his voice softening, “I’ll have some food ready when you return.”
Imellion unbunched herself from her seat, brushing away the straw and dropped out of the wagon. She bit her lip as her feet touched the snow, cold biting instantly through the cloth and leather she had wrapped them in. The pain raged like a cold flame for several moments before dimming, and she realized they were going numb.
She stamped them in the snow and bit her lip again as they began to tingle. Imellion staggered forward, pushing herself through the snow, towards the forest that loomed around them. She could not remember how long they had been in these woods, but endless days of walking alongside the wagon through trees, stopping sometimes to forage and relive themselves.
She stopped at the edge of the treeline and tilted her head. There was something different in how this patch of wood felt. It felt like home, full of love and respect, perhaps even something more. Something kindled in her heart, like a tiny flame.
Her footsteps were a little lighter after that and the burning pain not as bad as she strode into the woods, wandering in a loose circle around the pond. She paused, squinting into the shadows to try and see what lay within them amid the tree trunks.
Sticks and branches, snapped by the winter, had fallen to lie half-buried within the drifts. Imellion slogged towards the nearest branch, shivering as the snow melted against her body. The warmth of the forest vanished this far into the woods, replaced by a sharp that screamed through the branches and froze Imellion to her bones.
She knelt, however, and buried her hands into the snow to grab the branch, fingers hurting as she wrapped them around it. Her feet plunged through the snow-crust and she toppled over.Snow cascaded over like a small tidal wave, getting in her mouth and eyes. Imellion shuddered and rose again, swaying on her feet as the snow cascaded down around her feet.
What if she just stayed out there? The thought intrigued her. She pictured herself running out into the woods, surviving off what she found and being free to run through the woods and dwell by this pond that felt of home.
Something snapped nearby and she jolted alert, eyes scanning the forest. A clump of snow fell from a nearby tree as the branch plummeted to the ground. She considered the fantasy of running free and her shoulders slumped. It would never work and certainly not in this weather. She did not have the supplies. Her only chance of survival depended on the caravan and that depended on fire.
“Oh, Priskil,” Imellion breathed out, “Help me endure.” She stood for a few more moments, staring at the woods. Shadows moved in the distance, or so it seemed, but she couldn’t tell what they were. After another few moments, Imellion shrugged and trudged towards a dark shape in the snow. Another cluster of branches that she gathered up and stored under her arm, wincing as wind picked up again and flung snow-powder into her face. The crystals glittered in the moonlight and Imellion’s breath caught in her throat.
It was beautiful, that curtain that hung there in cold night air, shining with a white moonlit flame, and then it was gone, plunging the woods back into tree-cast shadows. Imellion stayed there for several long moments, breath held, in case that moment, that tiny in-breath moment of magic.
It did not return. The night even began to feel like it had grown colder as she shook incessantly now, no matter how tightly she pulled her clothes tighter around her body. Voices echoed back from the caravan encampment, laughing and jesting in some cases, others harsh and angry. Each angry voice cut through her like a whiplash and she froze in place.
The bundle of sticks nearly fell from her arms, she trembled so strongly. She clutched at them before turning around to trudge back to the camp. Jaxen was waiting for her, she could see, and her stomach roiled at the thought of what might happen for taking so long.
Her feet were numb as she entered the clearing again, snow-sodden and eyelashes coated in crystals. Jaxen had arranged a small circle of stones and had his fire-starter out, along with some old cloth for kindling.
Imellion dropped the firewood beside him and then sank to the semi-cleared ground around him. The branches fell in a clatter, which Jaxen viewed with a scowl, but turned away to begin setting up the fire. Imellion watched as he made a nest of the kindling, shaving off pieces of bark with his dagger and taking twigs off larger branches. Jaxen placed several pieces of the cloth in the center and took out his flint and steel, soon striking the stone against the metal, scattering sparks against the small nest.
Imellion saw the sparks as shooting stars, stars that burned and fell to the ground below, fizzing out against the snow. But some landed on the small fire and Jaxen leaned forward, blowing gently until they hold of the tinder. Imellion leaned forward and blew gently as Jaxen arranged slightly larger twigs against the pile, watching as they caught and then placing larger sticks.
As the small flames began to flicker and grow, hungrily grabbing for more food, Imellion felt a warm tingle begin in her hands. She placed a larger branch atop the pile as the twigs began to burn. The rest of her body began to feel a faint warmth and she moved closer. Jaxen nodded and began setting the largest chunks of wood on the fire, which quickly grew into a full fire that radiated warmth and light. He set hunks of bread near the edge, on the stones, and scopped snow into a pot which he hung above the fire.
Imellion crouched at the edge of the stones, trying to hold on as tightly as possible to the warmth.
“Jaxen!” A voice snarled, “Get your girl away from here. We need to talk!”
Both Jaxen and Imellion turned in surprise as Krith approached, the stocky caravan captain’s face impassive. Imellion turned to Jaxen, who gave a slow nod and she stood and hurried into the darkness far enough away to be unable to hear what they said.
After the warmth of the fire, the night was even crueler beneath the branches that clawed the snow from the sky. She could just make out a quiet murmur of conversation, suddenly punctuated by explosive remarks from one man or the other.
The glow from the fire quickly faded and she shivered once more, hair whipping about her face in the wind. This was unusual. Krith rarely paid her enough attention to send her away, let alone acknowledge that she was there. She grabbed her necklace and clutched it tightly, mouth moving in a silent prayer whose words she couldn’t find. All she could do was watch as the moon and stars wheeled above in their own journeys.
She knew one thing though. Whatever would happen, would happen, regardless of what she did. She saw the figure of Krith stomp off and Jaxen rose to give her a quick back to the fire. Imellion hurried over, pausing at seeing his face.
Fear twisted in her gut as he gestured for her to take a seat. There was genuine sorrow in his eyes and he seemed so much older all of a sudden. He slumped back to take a seat, which Imellion echoed, still staring at him.
“What’s wrong?” She finally managed to croak out, noticing something glimmer in the corner of his eyes. Tears? Was he actually crying about something? A lump grew in her throat as possibilities ran through her mind. He shook his head and coughed to clear his throat, adjusting the bread and pot by the fire. He handed her a chunk of bread and added more snow to the pot.
“Yer to be sold in Sunberth,” He finally choked out, staring at the fire. “Highest bidder.”
.
