Carliene Stark

II Chapter 3

Carliene

I was stumbling through the snow, that lay thick and heavy all the way to my knees. The wind was so cold that it felt like a thousand blades hitting my face and cutting deep into my cheeks until they were numb. Snowflakes pinched my skin like needles and it was so dark that I saw nothing but the white blanket a few feet in front of me. 

My hands ached with the cold, clutching something long and heavy in my arms. A weapon. No, not really. I knew my fingers were frostbitten and that I would probably lose my hands and most of my toes, but there was something greater at stake. A primal fear filled my ribcage as I pushed through the snow, the wind howling in an ancient song, sounding almost like a distant horn.
When I looked behind me I saw nothing but a pair of shining blue eyes that seemed to burn into my very soul, filling my head and chest with a blast of freezing cold discomfort. 

I woke with a gasp, my chest heaving with my quick breathing as a layer of sweat covered my entire body. The cold of the dream seemed to have followed me into reality and I looked around, searching the darkness for those burning blue eyes, somehow thinking that they were the cause of the cold. 

But then I realised that my blanket hand slipped off me and the bed, and that I lay bare and vulnerable to the cold of the castle. I quickly pulled the blanket back on top of me and let myself fall onto the straw mattress. I worked on my breathing, trying to calm myself as I tried to shake off the terror that still lingered deep in my heart. 

Rubbing my eyes I trend to lay on my side, pulling my legs closer to my body in an effort to warm myself back up. I don't wish to loose my hands or toes. 

After a while I realised that I was unable to fall back asleep and also that the warmth refused to return to me in the desolate room, even under the blanket. So I rose and got dressed, thinking back to the warm hearth in the dinning hall. 

The castle seemed much larger and much more threatening in the dark. The wind tore through every small crack or opening in the walls, creating strange noises and eery howls as it did so.
To my relief the fire in the dining hall was still burning, but I realised that I had not been the only one with the idea to warm myself on it. 

As I entered there was a man already sitting on a stool in front of it, staring at the flames, his hand curled around a wooden cup. I was a bit taken aback by his appearance, halting in the doorway and staring at him. 

He had the darkest skin of anyone I had ever seen. At first I thought it was some sort of body paint, but then I noted that every inch of skin that was visible under his red garb had the same colour. His head was shaven, gleaming like polished coal in the light of the fire. 

"Bad dreams?" His voice was deep and held a strong accent that I could not place, but thought to have heard before. He turned to face me slowly, his dark eyes seemingly still holding the glimmer of the flames. 

My eyes widened when I saw the tattoo adorning the left side of his face. A great flame that licked across his cheek and down his neck to disappear beneath his red collar. 

"Me too" he stated as he raised his cup to me in toast before taking a great gulp.

I thought about turning to head back to my room, but somehow I did not feel threatened by this great bulk of a man. I found myself rather intrigued as I stepped closer, sitting on the edge of a bench at one of the empty tables slightly behind him. The warmth of the fire was not as strong at this distance, but it still reached me somewhat and from here I could stare at the stranger without him realising. 

I wondered if he could have possibly known that I had a bad dream or if it had just been a figure of speech.

"What did you dream of?" I tested into the silence.
The man half turned, looking at me as if he had already forgotten that I was there. "The cold" he muttered, turning back to the fire.