Bringing Winter Homei
The trip had been a long one, but it was almost over now. He had already checked his pack twice since leaving Milltown to make sure that the pages were still there, safely tucked away beneath the spare cloak that she insisted on packing before he left, her eyes brimming with quiet suspicion because he refused to answer any of her questions directly. It’s a surprise, he had told her.
What sort of surprise, she wanted to know.
A good one, he smiled, and kissed her on the nose. She pouted slightly, but he could see the pleasure hiding just beneath. She had always liked his surprises. And after all this time, he still loved giving them to her.
Yes, the trip had been tiring. Yet worth it. His route had taken him to the forest south of Milltown first, in the early marcs when the rays of Sunrifter were only just beginning to spill across the lands for another day. The changes were subtle here, a slight thinning of the leaves in the brush and up in the canopy, perhaps a little more light because of this. And of course, the chill which for some reason always seemed to gnaw with sharper teeth in these woods despite its closeness to the desert. He spent perhaps three marcs at work here, perched on a bough just beneath the canopy which gave him a perfect view of the forest floor and the great towering trunks. Once he was satisfied with the result, he stowed his items away and carefully descended, considering as he did what a pity it was that he could not include any specimens of wild life. When he was a boy hunting wolves in this forest it seemed that you had only to stray from the path to be confronted by one of the beasts. These days, it was rare for him to spot as much as a motion in the bushes.
On through Dundee, stopping at the Inn long enough to pass a few words with Jeffrey over an ale. There was a storm brewing out past the swamp. The wind that howled through the village smelled vaguely of sea salt and swamp slime and bit deeply into what exposed skin it could find. Wrapping his cloak tighter about himself, he glanced towards the horizon, judging perhaps two marcs before the storm’s arrival. Two marcs might not be enough. If the storm came upon him before he finished his work, there was a chance that he might lose whatever progress he’d made before he could store it deep enough in his pack. The alternative, though, was sitting at the Inn and waiting the rain out. That could take all day. If he had any hope of completing his quest and returning home before she started to worry about him, it had to be done now.
So it was that he hurried past the fountain and out into the plains with scores of young adventurers heading in the opposite direction to take shelter. He was still casting about for the perfect vantage point, one hand rummaging in his pack as he moved, trying to keep an eye open for gremlins, when his gaze fell upon the small encampment to the south. Smiling, he tugged his pack up higher on his shoulder and set off in a run that soon brought him to the open tent with the bearded man half snoozing inside.
Weslau was of course happy to see him, and after hearing his story was quite willing to make space for him inside the tent, going as far as to offer him a stack of armors still wrapped in their travelling pack to perch on. Sales had been good, it seemed, and he was seeing more young adventurers with each passing week, almost all of whom ended up walking off with at least one or two items from his stock pile. While he sat at the opening of the tent with his tools at his side and the page on his knees, the merchant kept up a constant chatter behind him, telling of recent happenings along the southern shore, and in Dundee, and commenting on the current activities of people they both knew. Altogether, the little man’s continuous jabber made for quite a pleasant atmosphere inside the small tent while he worked.
ii
The storm clouds, it turned out, set the perfect tone. They darkened what shadows there were, bringing out more of that gray which always seemed to mark winter down there. The heavy rain which fell formed churning puddles from which the sparse grasses poked tiny pointed heads, like shipwrecked sailors fighting to stay above water. Considering their closeness to the shoreline, the appropriateness of this image was not lost on him.
The storm seemed to last barely a marc before the rain let up to a bare drizzle, and he packed his things away, promising Weslau that he would come by for another visit soon before setting off North to the Dundee docks. From there a ferry across to Branishor, devouring most of the roasted hen meat in his pack as he made his way through the busy marketplace to the Northern gate. The chill seemed more pronounced here, travelling on a stiff breeze which whistled through the mountain pass like the breath of a hellish choir of frost demons. That same wind ran through the tall growth of the grasslands as he sat in a small crag up on the mountainside, turning it into an ocean of waving fronds which sent great rippling shadows moving across the surface. He caught those shadows and added a bit more depth, darkening the sky, thinning down the growth. The result managed to convey that biting cold even though there appeared to be no outward signs of the season itself here yet, and he smiled as he returned everything to his pack. This would be her favorite. He was sure of it.
By the time he reached Fartown, night was upon the land. The scattering of torches which dotted the small township stammered and danced in the breeze which blew in from the nearby shore, while up on the cannon platform a man wrapped in a grey cloak appeared to be fiddling with something beneath the huge cannon. He spent a marc in the common room of the Inn, paging through the work he’d completed while he had his supper, before heading up to his room. His head had barely made a dent in the straw stuffing of his pillow before he was asleep.
Early the next morning, he was on the beach. Sunrifter had yet to make an appearance, but the sky already held that faint light which told of the day’s imminent arrival. He worked quickly with the aid of a lone torch, using the vagueness of that light in the sky to his advantage, taking in a scene which was mostly shadow and the dull gleam of waves and slick rocks. An idea came to him as he was busy finishing, and he hurried back up the shore to town, climbing up to the platform and taking a seat beside the cannon. From up there the beach was a thin, barely visible strip, the ocean a vast grey beyond the swath of grasses which stood between the town and the shoreline. The different perspectives would make a nice touch, he thought to himself as he sketched and shaded, using the edge of his thumb to smudge. Once he was done, he climbed back down off the platform, pausing to extinguish his torch before approaching the building from within which voices could be heard already arguing at that early marc.
iii
He had never been fond of travel by portal. It almost always left him with a tingling on his skin that was both pleasant and horrible at the same time. Sort of like what he imagined a headless hen must feel like just as it began to cook. Still, it was the quickest way to get to Caern, and Ugnod had been gracious enough to refuse the plat he offered in return for the service. Once the worst of the tingles were gone, he moved upstairs to the pub and ordered himself an ale before taking a seat at the edge of the balcony and setting to work. Sunrifter hovered muted and distant today behind the veil of grey clouds which covered the heavens. The fringe of the black beach far below held an icy crust that lingered about the shore in chunks and sheets which the tide jostled back and forth like the pieces of some great natural puzzle. This one took a little longer than the others had, so that his ale mug had been empty for awhile when eventually he packed up and waved a farewell to the Innkeeper. Home lay close by now, and it was with a buoyant heart and tired smile that he crossed the bridge to the mainland, imagining all the while the look on her face when she saw what he had for her.
Of course, the collection could never be complete without a visit to the snowy plateau. The climb seemed harder than he remembered it being the last time he set foot in these parts. The decision to include the plateau turned out to be more worth it than he’d first anticipated, for no sooner had he arrived than he found a trio of large mountain bears nosing around the site of what looked to be a minor avalanche. He wondered briefly whether the fall had covered over the entrance to their home. Perhaps they had cornered a gnome beneath the ice. Whatever the reason, he had no desire to frighten them off until he had them safely committed in charcoal. After that they could do as they wished, but for now he offered up a silent prayer that they might linger long enough for him to include them in his work.
Capturing the white of the snow, the fine ice crystals on the rocks, the sense of absolute cold, was difficult, especially with hands that barely felt whatever they gripped. Somehow, he managed to get most of it in, though. The bears he caught with a clarity that seemed almost lifelike; the great lumbering beasts wading through the snow with their heads down and flakes caught in their hair everywhere. Although this one took him the least time to complete, it held about it a casual vividness that made it his favorite. The snow had begun to come down in earnest as he added the final strokes, and he quickly slid the finished piece into the bottom of his pack, piling the extra cloak and the rest of his items in on top in a bid to keep any stray slush from seeping down and ruining all his work.
Now he stood at the door with his pack hanging off one arm while he carefully removed all of the sketches from within. The light from beyond the huge, scarred wall which bordered the village to the north was bright and hot, but not uncomfortably so. Living almost on top of the great desert meant that you never really got to see the season change, unless you took a trip down to Dundee, or Fartown, or up to Caern. If you weren’t able to make that trip for some reason one year, then that was usually it. You made do with the heat until the next change came around. Unless someone happened to bring the season to you, of course, but then what were the chances of that happening?
He smiled as he opened the door and she looked up from the chair where she sat mending a hole in his pantaloons. Some of the color had returned to her features, although her cheeks still held a pallor which told him that the head sickness which had laid hold of her had not let up entirely yet. Yet she sat there, mending his clothing when she should have still been in bed, and suddenly he wished that he had taken her with him anyway. But, no. He would not have risked it. He would not risk her.
I have a surprise for you, he said, crossing the room to her side.
What sort of surprise, she wanted to know. She set her darning aside, looking up at him with that same pleasure thinly disguised as suspicion.
He smiled at her, leaning down to kiss her on the nose.
A good one.Drake Kenzie
http://www.darkgrimoire.com/cshow175224.html