COLDERONIE
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The man was running for his life, running desperately to survive. His mind was screaming at him, demanding the man to run faster and deeper into the snowbound forest to escape his pursuers. Spiky branches of the spruce trees hit his face and body, leaving behind white streaks of powdery snow on his bloodstained coat. The man did little to protect himself from the beating; the pain could not compare to what would happen to him if he was caught.
His heart pounded faster than it ever had before in his life, but the man didn’t feel exhaustion. On some level, he was aware that his body was aching, but his broken mind blocked it all out, the burning in his muscles entirely overpowered by his blazing need to survive, to live just a few minutes longer.
The man did not even think about the fate of the brothers he had left behind.
Safety is behind that tree there
The deeper I run, the harder it is for them to find me
His mind looped. Every tree ahead of him was a gateway to safety. Every tree he left behind was a step toward a painful death. The man raised his rifle in front of his face to block another lash of a spruce whip, but the impact was still powerful enough to stagger him. He quickly regained his balance and continued running as fast as he could.
In his frantic state, the man did not notice the few snowflakes floating gently down from the darkening heavens.
Suddenly he felt his right foot impact something, and his ankle twisted unnaturally. He heard a sickening crunch, and immediately a mind-numbingly sharp pain shot up his leg. He lost his balance and fell face first into the shin-deep snow. The freezing softness enveloped his entire face, replacing the pain from the lashes with a dull, cold discomfort. The combination of sharp pain and shocking cold sobered him up, and all the exhaustion his panic had kept at bay hit him like a sledgehammer. The man tried to push himself up, but his shaking arms would not obey. He tried again and could raise himself up by a few inches, but only for a split moment before his muscled betrayed him, and he fell back into the snow. Completely sapped of all strength, the man rolled on his back and laid in the snow, breathing in the biting cold air and listening for any sounds that could signal that he was being followed.
The man did not hear anything; The silence of the forest was broken only by his ragged breathing. The gentle snow petals falling over him were beautiful.
The aching of his tired muscles was eclipsed by the pulsating hot pain in his right ankle. He tried to move his leg, and the pain intensified a thousandfold. The man gritted his teeth, and tears swelled up in his eyes. It wasn’t the pain alone that caused him to tear up; the catharsis from his frantic state and the silence of the forest confirming him safe elicited a storm of emotions inside the man, and the all-consuming fear was replaced by a bittersweet relief. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
He had lived! Somehow, he had actually made it! He was saved!
Through his tears, the man thanked the Kroniisiah for this miracle. He thanked Her Eternal Mercy for granting him another chance. He swore to make a great sacrifice in Her name the first chance he got.
As his cathartic storm of emotions subsided, another set of feelings made their way to his heart’s focus: A mixture of worry, regret, and grief. Vivid memories of just a few minutes ago forced themselves into his consciousness. The terrible thunder of rifles hidden in the forest, the ambusher’s bullets effortlessly ripping through Lieutenant Watches’ body, The troll tearing one of the soldiers, one of his brothers, limb from limb in schizoid rage. The man could still feel Lieutenant Watches' blood on his face, even though by now, the dry winter air had already sucked away all the warmth and moisture from it. He could vividly remember the viscera splashing all over him.
He had never seen death so indiscriminate and ruthless. He had seen death before, everyone had, but the end of people of importance was supposed to be more, for the lack of a better word, satisfying: Someone like Lieutenant Watches was supposed to have a long successful career and live a life of accomplishment and then die peacefully in his home, surrounded by his loved ones, or perhaps in a heroic last stand while protecting his motherland from the enemy. To the man, it was utterly unthinkable that a character as powerful and charismatic as Lieutenant Watches would just fall like a marionette, cut off from his strings. All his memories, his bonds, and his entire future to be so effortlessly taken away by a small piece of lead felt cruel and unjust.
It was wrong. So very wrong. The world was all wrong.
The man started to understand the pain wouldn’t go away from him just resting in the snow. He realized he had probably stepped into some hole hidden by the snow and twisted his ankle while frantically running away from the Ouroboros. He felt strength slowly returning to his limbs as the man looked around the forest surrounding him. His rifle was lying a few feet behind him, half buried in snow. The snow around the rifle's breech was retreating from the warmth held within. He watched as fresh snowflakes fell on it and immediately melted away, leaving behind tiny water droplets.
He hadn’t even had the chance to fire his rifle. Not even once.
The man reached out to grasp his weapon. His hand traced over the foreign lettering inscribed on its side. He could not read the southern script, but he knew what it stood for. A prayer and a reminder.
“…Through Her infinite love…”
The man pressed the gun tightly to his chest and cried. He had lost many of his brothers that day and hadn't even dared to stay and die with them. Instead, the coward he was, he left them all behind and ran off into a foreign forest and yet, for some reason, he had been saved by the Perfect One’s grace.
“…Bring Salvation to Her devoted servants…”
Overcome by Her love, the man opened the breech of his rifle and took out the charge, a small warm cylinder that pulsed with a soothing blue light. He grasped the cylinder tightly in his fist and brought his fist to his lips. The man matched his breathing with the pulse of the light he barely saw through his closed eyelids. He felt the warmth of Her love flowing into him.
His survival had a meaning. His life still had a purpose, a plan the Perfect One had for him. That must have been why he was saved.
The snowfall intensified. The darkness of the forest deepened.
The man put the cylinder into the inner breast pocket of his warm coat. He could still feel its warmth through the cloth. The man tried to stand, but the intense pain in his right leg forced him back down. He breathed for a bit, and then, using his rifle as a crutch, he tried again. Even though it hurt like hell, he managed to get up.
The faint shine of the moon could not make it through the grey layer covering the sky.
He looked around and snuffed the tiny spark of panic that lit in his chest. Only now did the man realize he had no idea where he was or how long he had run to get here. Snow was rapidly covering up his tracks, and he only had a general idea of the direction he had come from. The man considered beginning his travel towards that general direction for a moment, but the intensifying snowfall and rapidly approaching night persuaded him against it. He reasoned that it would be suicidal to try to make it through the forest at night, especially with a twisted ankle. The man wasn’t willing to throw away Kroniisiah’s blessing like that. He had far better chances of making it if he waited for the snowfall to end and the light of day to return and show him the way. All he needed to do was wait out the night; for that, he needed to find some semblance of a shelter against the biting winds and light a fire.
He knew the bases of the large spruce trees around him would most likely be decent as shelters, as both the snowbanks around them and their lower branches would help block some wind and snowfall. Scanning his surroundings, the man had already spotted several suitable candidates.
The fire was a little bit trickier, but it was still an easy task for him. He still had some kindling in his tinderbox and was experienced in lighting fires with a flint and steel. All he needed was to find wood dry enough to burn, and the old forest around him was full of it. He knew well that the lower branches of some trees sometimes died as the tree grew, falling to the ground and collecting as deadfall on the forest floor. These branches then dried over the months and years and made for suitable firewood. The man looked around, and even though the darkness made it hard to see, he spotted a few promising branches sticking out of the snow. With the help of his rifle, he hopped over to them, broke them into smaller chunks, and threw the pieces toward his designated shelter tree.
The relatively simple task of gathering wood was made difficult as every step he took shot a searing bullet up his leg, causing him to reel in pain. Soon the man found himself hesitating every bit of movement that required his right leg. His pace was slow, and with every passing minute, the freezing night reached her bony fingers deeper into him. First, he lost the feeling in his fingers, then went his nose and ears, but the man did not panic. He knew that panic would not help. The warmth of Her love in his breast pocket pushed him forward through the pain, cold, and horror of the frozen forest extending for miles around him. Calmly the man worked on gathering fuel for the fire.
What would have taken a healthy man ten minutes had taken him an hour.
Shivering, the man crawled under the spruce, sliding down the snowbank onto the dry land. He rubbed his numb hands together to regain some feeling in them, which only took a few seconds. Carefully he built a small pile out of dry twigs and bark and poured the contents of his all too small tinderbox on the ground. He carefully took the flint to his left hand and grasped the steel with his right. Then he struck.
The steel produces a tiny spark, blindingly bright to his eyes accustomed to the dark. However, this spark died as soon as it formed.
“Come on now”, the man muttered through chattering teeth. He struck again.
Another blinding spark that died just as quickly as the last one.
Cursing under his breath, the man struck a third time.
This spark remained a while longer, and soon a small piece of kindling began smouldering. The man cupped the pile of tinder between his hands, exerting all the willpower he had left to stop his shaking from scattering the small bundle of cloth fibres on the ground, and carefully blew into it. The warmth of the little flame grew stronger between his hands. Carefully, he inhaled and breathed life into the fire again, and the dancing flame answered in kind, giving the man a little more warmth. A wave of relief spread through him. The man now had a happily burning pile of kindling to which he fed small twigs and pieces of bark, carefully nurturing the little flame. The slowly expanding firelight banished the last shadows of his unconscious doubt.
“Thank the Kroniisiah!”
The man huddled over the fire and slowly inserted larger pieces of wood into it as the flame grew stronger. Soon the man regained feeling in his nose and ears as the warmth released from the destruction of timber thawed his body. Previously frozen droplets of his breath that had been collecting on his nose and moustache trickled down his face and chin.
Now that his body was no longer desperate for warmth, it saw fit to remind the man of the other things it was lacking. He realized how incredibly thirsty he was. In this situation, most people's first instinct would be to eat the snow, as it was, after all, made of water, but the man knew better. Having grown up hearing dozens if not hundreds of stories from the Great Winter and having experienced some of the harsh northern winters himself, the man knew that this would freeze his body from the inside, increasing his risk of death by freezing. The man felt satisfied knowing he had the know-how to avoid such deadly mistakes as he packed his tinderbox full of snow and placed it near the fire. One tinderbox’s worth of water was not much, but he had all night to melt more snow for him to drink.
The forest had wholly fallen to darkness. The long winter night had come.
As he sat there looking at his small fire, the dire situation he had narrowly escaped began to dawn on him. He shuddered not from cold but from the sting of terror he felt as he thought of the "what ifs" of just half an hour ago. What if he hadn't managed to find suitable spruce for his shelter? What if he hadn't encountered enough dry wood? What if his cold, shivering hands scattered his kindling and extinguished the fledgling flame? The man looked above the snowbank into the dark forest that extended for who knows how long everywhere around him. He felt like a scared little rabbit holed up in his hidey-hole, desperately trying to avoid the deadly bite of the hungry winter wolf that stalked the forest.
Everything beyond the flickering edge of his firelight was death incarnate.
The man grasped the faintly glowing blue cylinder and felt Her love spread into his hand again, banishing his fears. The wolf would go home hungry today, for this rabbit was not your average woodland critter: he was under the protection of a power no wolf could ever even hope to best. Like the nation of Infinitum survived the Great Winter, he too would survive this snowfall night through Her infinite love, the warmth of which pierced through any cold.
The man kissed the base of the cylinder and uttered a prayer. He was thankful for his survival, even if it wasn’t going to be an easy one. He took another piece of wood and fed it to the fire. Exhaustion was rapidly turning into drowsiness, and even though he knew that answering the sweet call of slumber was dangerous in his situation, the man could not resist. With each passing minute, his eyelids became heavier, and the warmth of the fire became more comfortable.
This was why the stories always warned about treading the winter alone. A lone man could not keep a fire up throughout the long night, but two could alternate between sleep and fire duty. The man realized this, but he could not hold himself awake.
He snuggled up in his warm coat, leaning on the spruce and hugging his rifle like an infant would his mother. He traced his hands over the script on the firearm, the promise of Her love inscribed upon it comforting him. The Kroniisiah would keep watch for him. She would keep him safe during his sleep. He prayed his fire would keep burning for at least a few hours, then drifted off to the land of dreams.
His dreams were not of the peaceful kind. He wasn't even sure if they could be classified as dreams at all. He spent an indefinite amount of time somewhere in-between sleep and wakefulness, his looping nightmares being interrupted by him constantly waking up to check on the fire. One moment he was running through the forest with the enemy's bullets whizzing past him, then he was a starving wolf, desperately trying to find the tasty rabbit hiding under the spruce branches. Just as he had sniffed the little critter out, he woke up to find his fire in tatters after he had kicked it in his sleep. He desperately scrambled to collect the scattered embers with his bare hands, burning them badly in the process. Then he opened his eyes and saw his fire still burning weakly in front of him. The man threw more wood into the fire and peered over the snowbank into the forest, where he saw the pink eyes of death staring straight at him from the edge of his flickering firelight. Scared, the rabbit retreated into his hole, where it cowered in terror, back pressed against the spruce. The next moment he was lying in the snow, bleeding out from multiple bullet wounds as he watched himself running off into the forest.
These visions looped, twisting around each other for what felt like years to him before the light of dawn broke through his nightmares. The first thing the man felt was the cold. The next was his entire body trembling as his muscles tried their best to warm up in preparation for another day of survival. The man tried to open his eyes, but to his surprise and shock, he couldn't do it. He shot up to a sitting position and inspected his eyes: Small solid spheres of ice had formed on his eyelashes, freezing his eyes shut. He pulled at his eyelashes, removing enough of the beads to allow his eyes to open. He watched as the tiny beads of ice melted back into tears on his hand. The man was horrified by this.
In the dead of night, the wolf had found the rabbit. It had come so close that it could taste the salt of the rabbit’s misery, yet the wolf had not taken a bite. It left at the break of dawn, leaving the rabbit with a haunting reminder that its hidey-hole was no longer safe, that the rabbit would not survive another night in hiding. That running was the only option the rabbit had left.
That the wolf liked to play with its food.
Anger swelled up inside him. Anger towards the cold for being his enemy, anger towards himself for running away, anger towards the Kr… no, the man would not let himself doubt Her. It was through Her love alone that he was still alive. He should be thankful for this miracle.
Somehow, his fire was still alive, or it had been until just a few moments ago. The sun's light scattered through the faint smoke rising from the still smouldering embers. The rabbit’s protector had driven away the wolf at the very last minute, saving the rabbit’s life. But why had She let the wolf get so close?
The answer was, obviously, that the rabbit was a sinner, and sinners needed to be punished before they would deserve salvation. The protector was a practitioner of tough love, She wanted to teach the rabbit the value of survival, and more importantly, She wanted the rabbit to repent for his sins and learn the consequences of abandoning his brothers.
“…Let Her servants overcome all trials…”
The man tightly grasped the glowing cylinder, feeling the warmth of Her love spread into the palm of his hand. His resolve strengthened. He would accept Her trial, he would repent for his sins in this snowbound hell, and then he would return home alive. This the man swore in his own name and the names of his fallen brothers. He would become worthy of their forgiveness.
Having warmed himself enough on the embers, the man pressed the glowing cylinder to his chest, straightened his coat, grabbed his rifle, and crawled out of the spruce trap into the freezing wilderness.
The sheer amount of whiteness was blinding. Everything around him was covered by a knee-deep layer of fluffy snow. The night snowfall had been much heavier than he had expected, but the sky seemed to be clearing, much to his delight. The sun's light would be brighter today, which increased the man's morale. He used his rifle as a crutch and stood up, gritting his teeth through the searing pain in his leg. The pain did not matter to him anymore; the man was determined to make it back home. He was feeling confident, as he knew that he was tougher and brighter than most.
Indeed, perhaps an average man would have lost to the winter, but he certainly wouldn’t. He was unique and special, one of the Goddess's chosen ones.
After his eyes had adjusted to his new bright environment, the man looked around. He remembered the general direction from where he had come from, even though the fresh snow had covered his footprints. Judging by the sun's relative position, he knew it was in the west. If he continued in that direction, he would come across a road. If he followed that road southward for maybe 10 miles or so, he’d arrive at the Forward Operating Baseronii, where comfortable beds and his brothers were waiting for him. He longed for the warmth of the stoves, the savoury taste of soup, and the sound of his brothers laughing as they shared gossip and told tales to each other. He fantasized about how the priestesses would praise him for his piety and unwavering faith in the Kroniisiah’s plan. He began walking, not worrying one bit. Then his stomach growled.
A lone bullfinch perched on a nearby branch, looking at the hungry man walking in the snow. Curiously it tilted its head. Not often did it see a two-legs in the forest alone, let alone during the dead of winter. Most curious to the bird was why the two-legs was acting the way it was, walking through the thick snow with great pain and effort. This was because the bird knew something the man did not; it knew it from the smell of the wind, from the way the snow had fallen last night, and from the way the clouds were moving in the sky, scattering and running south like frightened sheep in front of a predator.
The bullfinch puffed up, its instincts telling it to preserve as much body heat as possible.
A blanket of anticipation had fallen over the entire forest. Every living thing was preparing for the coming clear skies. The bird assumed the two-legs felt it as well, which is why it was so confused. Its small mind could not comprehend why the two-legs was exerting themselves at a time like this.
The forest was wholly silent save for the snow scrunching under the man's feet. Every step sent a bolt of pain through him, but he was getting used to it now, or at least that is why he assumed the pain didn't feel as bad anymore. His breath condensed in the cold, forming clouds of vapour that lingered in the air. It was colder today than it was yesterday, the man thought as the air stung his nose and airways like a needle. But beyond acknowledging its existence, the man did not think much about the cold or its implications. He was busy daydreaming about the sweet taste of warm milk, which he would soon be sipping at Baseronii. The man stopped for a bit to rub some warmth into his numb fingers, then he rubbed his nose and ears until he regained some sensation in them too. It took only a minute for him to lose all feeling in them again. He shivered.
The wind blew ripples of tiny ice crystals across the surface of the undisturbed snow. The wind could not penetrate his coat, but it did bite his exposed hands and face. Sunlight came at an increasingly shallow angle, giving him no solace from the frost. He continued walking towards the road.
He focused on the warmth of Her love in his breast pocket and the promise of comfort it offered him if only he could pass this trial. He had to reach Baseronii before nightfall, he was sure of that much. He would not survive another night alone in the forest. The man picked up the pace, expecting to come across the road any moment now. He had not run that deep into the woods. Surely, he had not.
This was the right direction. It had to be! He tried his best to convince himself of his own confidence.
All the trees looked the same to him, and he could not discern the shapes of the ground beneath the knee-deep snow. He stopped for a minute to rub his numb hands together, but his cold fingers had no warmth to give one another. He took the warm cylinder from his breast pocket, tightly grasped it in his left fist, and let its warmth banish the numbness from his fingers. The man felt tired, but he pressed on with sheer determination. He did not know how much time had passed. It could have been an hour, two, three, or even four. The sun was already beginning to fall beyond the horizon, and he hadn’t even found the road yet. It was sure getting cold, no doubt about it.
The man thought that maybe he didn't need to return to Baseronii. With luck, he'd come across a patrol on the road, and the soldiers would do something to keep him warm. Ouroboros or republic, either side was good at this point. All he needed was to find the road. The road would be his salvation.
The sky was a perfectly clear blue, like the eyes of the Perfect One. Only far in the southern and western skies could he see a few straggling clouds.
But where was the road? He really should have come across it by now. No way could he have accidentally walked past it. The man considered turning back to double-check the way he had come, but that would waste valuable hours he could not afford.
“O Kroniisiah, please show me the way. Please tell Your servant what to do.”
His frustrated voice sounded wrong in the silence of the spruce trees. For some reason, it felt dangerous to break the silence, as if the forest could strike at him for speaking out loud. He shivered violently. He had to move faster. He squeezed the cylinder in his left hand, and its light pulsed in response. As long as he had the warmth of Her love with him, he would survive. She would not abandon him to the wolf.
The wind howled. The shadows lengthened. The sky was crystal clear for as far as the eye could see. His breath was a cloud of glittering diamonds in the air.
The idea of the road was stuck in his mind. At any moment, he would come across it. It was just beyond that snowbank, just out of sight.
Not this one, the next one over there.
The next one, it has to be. I know it will be the next one.
Please let it be the next one...!
Each time the man grew more desperate, and each time he quickened his pace.
At some point, the man noticed no pain in his foot anymore. He tried to wiggle his toes but felt nothing; twisting his ankle hurt slightly, and the pain was dull and suppressed. He was not brave enough to check whether his toes still moved at all. The idea of his flesh dying while he was still alive, of the venomous ice spreading through his veins, was disgusting. He tried to divert his thoughts to something else, but his mind kept wandering back to his dying extremities. He squeezed the warm cylinder in his hand as hard as he could. The warmth of Her love in his hand was his lifeline. It was the rope he was hanging on. It was the light toward which the rabbit could run.
Then the man broke through the line of trees and stepped into a wide clearing flanked by a fell to its north. He had no memory of ever passing a clearing, nor a fell during his escape. The horrible confirmation of his fears hit him like a cannonball. He felt panic grip his pounding heart once again, and he began to breathe faster. He had no idea where he was. No clue at all. He started to regret all the decisions he had made till now. He regretted leaving the spruce trap, he regretted running to the forest, and he regretted signing up for the army.
The wind intensified as the planet’s shadow rose into the eastern sky, bringing into view shining stars. The wolf was breathing down his neck. The frost penetrated through his coat and deep into his flesh.
Kroniisiah had abandoned him. He was all alone. A deserving punishment for a sinner and a traitor, the man thought as tears froze on his cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."
The man wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He dropped his rifle and began running towards the fell as fast as he could, his cold legs barely obeying him. Surely, if he could make it to the top, he could see the surrounding area and figure out where the road was. He no longer cared about his numbing limbs. He had to make it to the top. He was sure that if he could see smoke, the road, or any sign of human habitation, he would make it, he would be saved. Losing a few toes, a finger, or even a limb to the wolf did not matter. He just wanted to live. The fact that the Perfect One had abandoned him did not matter. He would carry on living without her.
The man did not notice it, but his body had stopped shivering.
Desperately he climbed toward the darkening sky to the top of the fell. He found it hard to think clearly as the venomous ice spread up his legs and down his arms, steadily making its way toward his heart. He stumbled and fell but continued on all fours, clawing and kicking at the snow to get just a few inches closer to the top, closer to the road. Humanity was leaving him as he reverted into a mad, desperate beast.
Road, Soup, Love, Warmth, Lieutenant, Road, Blood, Warmth, Love
Why did he want to the road again? The idea of savoury soup and a warm bed mixed with the memory of Lieutenant Watches. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice wondered whether the corpse would still be warm, whether he could survive by stealing the warmth of the dead man for himself. That's why he needed to find the road, and the road was at the top of the fell, he was sure of it.
He felt something constrict around him, and he could no longer breathe. In confusion, he felt around his body but could not feel anything out of the ordinary. The only thing around him was his coat, which felt hotter and heavier with each passing second. Yes, of course, the man thought. The coat was smothering him, taking away his breath. He had to breathe to get to the top of the fell, to get to safety, and the coat stopped him from getting to the top. It was in the way of his survival.
He had to get rid of his coat. It was evident to him. He needed to live, and to live, he desperately needed to get rid of his coat. Frantically he ripped off his outer clothing with his frozen hands. It was difficult, as he no longer could open or close his fingers, but he managed to do it. The man celebrated in his mind. Now he would surely make it. He could already see the top of the fell. He'd remove his shirt, too; it was only weighing him down. He'd get a new one back home. He had to make it to the top, no matter the cost. It was just out of sight.
Half-naked and mad, the man scrambled to the top of the fell. His heart sunk.
Road… Where? Where was the road? Where was safety? He had been promised safety.
Everywhere around him, he witnessed winter’s breath-taking cruelty in all its terrible beauty.
Pure, untouched white, as far as the eye could see. Innumerable fells rose above the conifers, breaking the monotone of the snowbound forest, but there was no smoke, no sign of the road, and no hint of human habitation anywhere to be seen.
There was no way to safety. There never was.
The man had made an assumption very early on in his journey. He had assumed that the predator was a wolf, a titanic hungry wolf that stalked the forest and chased lost rabbits like himself. A wolf he could hide from and run away from. But the rabbit had been wrong, for the predator was not a hungry wolf. The predator was a snake.
A terrible white snake coiled around these islands, holding them her prisoner, her venom dripping down from the heavens, suffocating the earth under a blanket of white death. The snake hid deep in the forests, and during frigid nights she would enter the cities where the rabbits were huddling around their little stoves, praying for the snake to pass, for her to not fit in through the cracks in the walls of their homes.
Once the snake had bitten, it was all over for the rabbit. The more he struggled, the harder his little heart had beaten, the faster the venom would make its way through his body. Every time the rabbit stopped to regain his strength, the snake would be there just outside the firelight, patiently waiting for him to notice her cold eyes and make the decision: To give in to the cold and die peacefully or run and live for a few more preciously painful moments.
Whatever the rabbit chose, it did not matter. The snake knew that the rabbit would die eventually. It was only a matter of time.
This rabbit finally gave in. He dropped to his knees. There was nothing else he could do, nowhere else to run, nothing he could squeeze even the smallest droplets of hope from. The man looked down at his left hand, frozen tight around the glowing cylinder. Its faint warmth, which he could feel no longer, had been just enough to give him hope but not enough to give him life. His body betrayed him, and he fell sideways into the soft snow.
Kroniisiah had tricked him. She had led him here to die. She had been his enemy.
The man cursed the Warden from the bottom of his heart. She had given him nothing but lies, the glow of the cylinder was all lies, the warmth of Her love, all lies. Lies that were used to manipulate and torment him before finally killing him. He hated Her for it, and he was sure She had to hate him too. There was no other explanation for why she had let this happen to him, to one of her dear servants.
The snow melted around the glowing cylinder, forming tears of meltwater that flowed down its side and pooled on the man’s hand before freezing again. Its light slowly pulsed as it breathed in his frozen grasp. The man wondered whether anyone would ever find him and if he would be remembered by anyone. The rabbit closed his eyes and fell asleep in the snake’s loving embrace.
