Life is simple in Frostspire, a sleepy little village perched by the sea, cradled in the lap of mountains tall and snow-clad. Yet a simple life is not without its problems. Fortunately, the folk of Frostspire have someone to turn to when in need; a...
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The rain had stopped long before Alvar woke up. When he opened his eyes, the bed was flooded with golden light from the window, the last rays of the sun shining through after a gloomy day of pouring rain and howling winds. Now all was clear and warm once again.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, groggy from his afternoon nap that he had not intended to take. Lars still had one arm around him, and Marcella lay in between them, curled over the blanket. Both were sound asleep.
He had not come here only to take a nap, of course. The hedges around Lars' house had gotten all scraggly. When Alvar arrived early in the morning, armed with his shears to prune them, it was still dark. Great billowing clouds drifted in from toward the sea. The wind picked up speed and the smell of storm was in the air. Streaks of lightning cut through the gloom every now and then.
"Looks like rain," said Lars from the porch, a needless prediction. His smoking pipe hung unlit from between his teeth as he paused to watch the clouds. "Oh no."
He rushed outside to collect his laundry from the clothesline, forgotten until now. It was the same as always, a few pairs of shirts and breeches, and an unusual number of cloaks. At first Alvar used to wonder if he wore the same cloak everyday, until he saw how many he had, all varying shades of green. Now he was used to it, and so paid no heed to the half dozen cloaks hanging there. They whipped every which way, like kites torn from their strings.
Lars bundled them up into one big ball. "Come inside before the winds carry you away," he called.
Alvar clicked his tongue. "I'll be done in a minute."
He was not done in a minute. In fact, the work took several minutes, and he could not finish half of it. The hedges skirted the whole house and garden, stretching all the way to the gate that led down to the dock. The gate now swung wildly on its hinges, its latch undone.
The sea churned below, the rushing of waves so loud he could hear them from all the way up here. He leaned over the gate and chanced a look below. Lars' boat danced upon the dark waters that heaved and fell. He wondered if the moorings would stay.
