The Winter

Chapter 7

This might be the last chapter of The Winter I post this year, so if it is, I wish you all a happy Yule/Christmas/Hogmany and any other seasonal holiday you might be celebrating this month 🎄 (do tell, I love to find out what else is celebrated in the world)

I'm hoping to post the first rewritten chapter of Way of the Woad before the end of the year too, so make sure to add that to your libraries!

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Did anyone else sense this disagreement brewing between Hati and Eabha in previous chapters? 😬😉

Chapter 7

Grief worked miracles. Or alcohol did.

Those were the only explanations I could come up with for seeing both Astrid and Ingrid sitting together. Astrid had come for me of course, but I'd been surprised when she'd agreed to sit with us.

Their eyes had clashed and something unspoken passed between the two females. Linnea and I watched like hawks, so did a few wolves lingering around us, as the pair came to some sort of understanding. Astrid sat at my side, and Ingrid quickly popped another berry in her mouth. She chewed like her life depended on it when a stir went around us. Let them talk. It would be talk of potential new friendships at least.

I smiled and leaned back, happy with an evenings work. Maybe I could get rid of the factions in the pack.
Tonight, they were blurred but still there. Wolves mixed freely, yet it was impossible to miss a few groups huddled together. Groups made up of only family, or of only one species. However, those making the most of the night were less concerned about such divides.

Music flowed around us as merrily and overflowing as the drink did; passing hands and voices, dancers swinging themselves into abandoned seats to be replaced by couples who'd yet had the chance. Even the stoic female warriors who'd travelled from far east had taken a turn to show us the dances of their homeland; their movements twisting and graceful, wrists snapping and fingers flicking above their heads with a precision I could never hope to emulate.

The music itself was a mash of tunes I recognised and didn't, played on familiar instruments, and ones I'd never seen before, but thrummed through my veins all the same. Whistles and small stringed instruments that twanged in buzzing long notes above the steady drum beats.

It was a glimpse of what could be.

A celebration of more than just Bruadar, but the pack itself. In one room were wolves from every corner of the known world, wolves who worshipped different gods and spoke in different tongues. A haven for all, because we all wanted the same thing in truth. Safety. A home. A place to raise young, and die a ripe old age surrounded by family and friends.
I knew in that moment I could never leave. No matter how loud I heard the call of the wild, this might end up the place I wanted to stay, even if others didn't wish me to.

"Always so melancholy." Astrid reached across to refill the mug in my hand, sweet liquid sloshing around the brim.

"Not melancholy," I replied, twisting on the bench to give her a wistful smile. "Hopeful."

She paused at that, arching a blonde brow. "Death has made you. . .hopeful?"

I cringed and shook my head, regretting my word choice. Contradictions. That was another thing this night was full of. How many others were struggling between enjoying the night and remembering why we were here?