Progeny of Fate

Silas

The solar journey across the sky comes to a close, the golden disk of the sun disappearing behind the trees ahead of us. The sun's final glare sets the snow dusted treetops alight in a burning halo. The journey has been perilous. Juniper nearly sprained a leg, stumbling on a precarious stack of sheeted rock and shale.

Since breaking camp at dawn, we'd eaten little in order to ration our remaining provisions. Luckily, but strangely, we encountered two falfnu this morning, who were uninterested in pursuit. They were feasting on a beast too bloodied, and meat too tattered to make out the species.

Twilight shines its last light as Agni makes his final descent for the night. I scan the road ahead. I can scarcely call it a road. The word trail would be better suited to the winding, narrow passage between thick underbrush and dense forestry. The further we venture up the mountainous inclination, the lower the temperature becomes. Hurdles of snow-turned-ice have hindered our progression, forcing us to ride at a tedious pace. Gusts of wind bite my ears, tinging my skin pink. I've given up combing my hair. The wind runs its icy fingers through my unkempt locks.

Our trail leads us well up into the altitude of the Brashnir massifs, though not so far as to reach the highest peaks. From our path's snowy summit, cirrus clouds float over the valley in the distance, which, paired with the settling darkness of the night, obscures the view.

Prior days of travel, we'd been serenaded with passerine birdsong. Sounds of flitting wings rustled through the trees, and bushy tailed squirrels scurried up trunks or into bushes. Since climbing into the height of altitude, birds no longer ode our passing, nor has there been a single forest critter in sight. The quietude makes me uneasy. I glance sidelong at Aedan who appears unperturbed by the inherent silence of the mountains. If anything, the young man appears relaxed, as if the sound of our lone footsteps are enough cause to let down his guard. It makes sense, I guess, seeing as how he is always alert, always listening for a pair of trailing footsteps, or looking out for some shadowy figure lurking behind houses or trees. We are blessed with a rare solitude, traveling this precarious path where most travelers dare not venture during the cold months.

I'd think Agni had blessed our journey if it weren't for the object of our mission. Perhaps sheer coincidence brought us through the mountains at the opportune time whence the blizzards have ceased, and the ice has begun to thaw. The rocky trails would otherwise be lodged in ice and covered with snow, rendering travel impossible during the winter.

With spring's thaw, the snow caps will melt and the rushing waters will carve the path of various rivers down the mountainsides. The danger of an avalanche also keeps travelers at bay, since spring rainfall or the melting of the snow can cause such deadly occurrences.

Days pass and the rest of our traveling is less arduous, but we do proceed with caution traveling the downhill slope. With Aedan's recovery from the poison, we stop to rest often lest he grow too weary and fall from his saddle. Our steeds have been in relatively low spirits, sensing the slowmending wound in Sol's rider.

"We should stop to change the dressing on your wound," I say.

"Sure," is his only reply. We stop near the base of the mountains where the forestry once again begins to thrive. I tie Juniper's lead to a low hanging branch. Aedan slides gingerly from his saddle, carefully favoring his wounded leg. Sol's leather reins are malleable in my hands, made soft from Aedan's consistent grip. They are a good leather, made from the same Holtic cattle as our boots.

I rustle in the saddle bag at Sol's side as Aedan takes his reins and secures the stallion to his own branch. Bandages and a cask of alcohol in hand, I walk over to Aedan where he sits on a boulder. His breeches are pulled down to reveal the tender wound in a muscular thigh. The old bandage has been discarded to be packed away and boiled later. He'd been lucky that the arrow had lodged into the muscle, rather than a ligament or artery.