It was snow beneath her back now, not grass and when she opened her eyes it was not Makaro who stood above her, but the man.
He offered her his hand, and she took it, brushing snow from her tunic as she rose.
The thought of him witnessing such intimate memories should have shamed her, but it didn't.
They stood together, side by side, in the trampled snow beneath the tree.
"Was I wrong to love him?"
"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged cupid painted blind," he quoted.
The words were familiar, though she was certain she had never heard them before.
"Shakespeare," he said. "You used to quote him often."
She frowned, an eddy of memory coming to her. "Lovers ever run before the clock."
He smiled and placed one finger to her temple. "It is getting late if you remember that much. Come, we are not done here yet."
She followed him around the trunk of the tree. She did not know where the words had come from, but they had fallen from her tongue like over ripe fruit from a tree.
He knelt in the snow at the base of the tree and beckoned her closer.
"See here," he said, pointing to a set of tracks.
She knelt beside him and stretched a hand out to trace the tracks.
DU LIEST GERADE
Winter's Tree
Fantasy[Open Novella] - [Long Listed] In the middle of a snow encrusted field stands a tree. Ancient and formidable, its roots run deep below the surface, carrying secrets that could unravel the very fabric of reality. Follow Ayessa as she struggles to rem...
