Cold Feet

Chapter 1: Bittersweet Symphony

The Knee.

One of the oldest parts of the Isles, where magic flows freely and unbidden. Where witches come to hone their skills and connect to the Titan, seeking guidance and direction. A place where relics from the era of wild magic stand, aging and decrepit but not forgotten.

More often than not, however, the Knee is where families (with the means to do so) get away for a little while.

"AHHHH!"

A peaceful respite.

"STOP!"

A chance to recharge.

"It hurts!"

And for some, an opportunity to cause mayhem.

Boscha cackles, and lobs a snowball at one of the witchlings scurrying around the field. Hard packed and nearly solid ice, each one feels as heavy as a stone.

"Go on, run!" She whips her arm back and throws another, watching gleefully as it sails through the air and strikes someone on the back of their head, pitching them to the ground. "While you still can!"

Beside her, Skara lets out a tired sigh. "Bosch, I'm bored." She glances up from her scroll and snorts as she watches one of the witchlings run straight into a tree. "Let's go inside."

Boscha turns towards her, brows furrowed. "Seriously?" She gestures to the pile of snowballs that towers over her. "I'm not even halfway done."

Skara dispels her scroll with a wave of her hand and rises to her feet. "You can finish tomorrow." She rubs her eyes, biting back a yawn, and begins making her way to the entrance of the lodge. "C'mon, it's almost time for dinner anyway."

Boscha glances back to the field but the witchlings have all but disappeared from sight—save for one whose head remains lodged between two trees, legs flailing in the air as they struggle in vain to break free.

"Fine. " She rolls her eyes and tosses the snowball in her hand dejectedly over her shoulder, following her friend inside the lodge. "Only cause it's steak night."

-- -- --

Eyes heavy and stomach full of gristlethorn steak, Skara mumbles a sleepy "g'night" to Boscha as she passes her in the hallway.

"Already?" Boscha spins on her feet, eyes falling on the back of Skara's head. She notes, passively, how her friend's posture is slumped. "It's only 9:00 PM."

"Tired," Skara replies sleepily, just loud enough for Boscha to decipher.

Boscha frowns. "Tired? I thought you wanted to play Guitar Demon tonight." She takes a step towards Skara just as her friend reaches the bedroom door. "And what's there to be tired of? We've been here for less than a day."

Skara doesn't respond, her senses dulled from drowsiness, but closes the door behind her instead, entering her bedroom. She stumbles over the edge of a slitherbeast rug splayed across the floor and catches herself on the bed frame. She glances down, and groans at the realization that she has to change into pajamas before knocking out.

"Ugh."

Skara undresses, throwing her clothes to the floor to change as quickly as possible. Normally she would organize her clothing, fold it neatly, and pack it away before going to bed, but she feels utterly exhausted. After fighting her shirt to slip on over her head, she flops onto the bed and curls into the covers, raising a single finger to shut off the lights.

The past week had been a nightmare in every sense of the word.

Between looking after her siblings when her parents weren't home and making time for afterschool grudgby conditioning, she'd barely slept more than four hours each night, staying up late to study for finals and finish several end-of-the-term assignments that for some Titan-forsaken reason had the grace to be due all at once.