Call of the Heidrun [bxb]

Blood In The Snow

1st December, 1981

Kristján Wagonshield's tale began on a wintery December morning; a time when the first snowfalls spread their frosty wings, adorning the hills and valleys of Jorvik in blankets of heavenly white. It was a time when a bitter chill seized the air, reminding the islanders to wrap themselves in an extra layer as the evenings swiftly succumbed to darkness. It was a time when woodsmoke filled your lungs as you rode through town, fingers and toes turning numb in your mittens and boots. Winter. What a terrible joke.

Much like everyone else on Jorvik, Kris began his day with a battle of wits. To leave or not to leave the warmth of his bed? And, much like everyone else on Jorvik, the matter was settled for him by shrieking whinnies and the stomping of impatient hooves.

"Aideen finish me," Kris muttered, throwing aside the duvet and shoving his feet into a pair of tartan slippers. "Where's my dressing gown?"

He wasn't prepared for the blast of icy wind that assaulted his face upon opening the front door. The horses, on the other hand, seemed delighted by the change in the weather. Their excited frolicking stole a small smile from Kris's face. The crunch of fresh snow under his slippers also pleased him, though he'd die before admitting such a thing.

When he reached the well (by Aideen, the bucket better not be frozen), he spotted someone leaning casually against the entrance to the barn. Tall, bulky and dark-haired; they were already dressed and ready to start the day. It could only be one person. Kris gave a tired wave, his eyesight still blurry from sleep.

"Nice slippers." Conrad teased, meeting him beside the well.

"Ugh, how are you already dressed? It's barely sun-up." Kris groaned, noticing the bucket was, in fact, frozen solid. He'd have to boil the kettle to unfreeze it, which meant trekking all the way back to the house.

"Would you rather I not be dressed?"

Kris flushed all the way to his ears.

"Shut up. That's not what I meant and you know it."

Conrad shrugged unapologetically, grinning from ear to ear.

Accepting the inevitable, Kris reached for the bucket, lifting it into his arms. Blimely, it's heavier than he anticipated. It was also unbelievably cold. With a noise of surprise, he let it drop into the snow.

"December can die." He wheezed.

"Need help?" Conrad laughed. Damn him, Kris thought. No one should be this amused at six o'clock in the morning. He certainly wasn't.

"Yeah. Fetch the kettle. I need to melt that layer of ice."

"Why do you need a kettle? I'm here."

And that's all the warning Kris received before Conrad knelt before the frozen bucket and punched it with his fist.

CRACK.

"There!" Conrad said, as though he hadn't just broken through solid ice with his bare hands like it was no big deal.

"Er... thanks." Kris stuttered, at a loss for an appropriate reaction. Sometimes he forgot just how strong Conrad really was. But by Aideen, he could have used the kettle like a regular person.

They fed and watered the horses together in companiable silence, enjoying the peacefulness of Moorland before everyone woke up. Only a small handful of Jorvians were awake at this delicate hour, going about their business like clockwork. It meant Kris and Conrad had to tend to the horses alone, but Kris liked that; it made a pleasant change from fighting away swarms of girls in order to reach his own horse.