𝕬𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝕷𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖇𝖞 - [𝗞𝗮𝘇 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗸𝗸𝗲𝗿]

𝐥𝐯𝐢. 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗 — looking glass

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 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 a vast silence after Matthias and Nina had scuttled through the snow with picks in their hands ready to craft graves for the deceased Grisha. Aleksa was ahead of the remaining five, though Kaz was beside her. His uneven gait trudged through the icy wasteland, his cane striking the ground.

 Aleksa had snapped at him again. Oftentimes whenever Kaz was a little more callous than usual, she wouldn't pay any mind. She'd roll her eyes, brush him off or retort... but he knew where she'd been, the fight she'd been a part of. He had to have known that all she'd seen in the months of her absence was the death of her own kind, her friends.

 Did he expect her to brush his death aside, should it fall untimely? What about Inej? Jesper? How would he react to them? No, Kaz might have tried to convince the world that he had little care left within his heart, but Aleksa knew different, she knew better.

 He tested Jesper by sending him off with kruge... if he failed, Kaz would shake his head and tut like a damned father. But... on the very few occasions that Jesper managed to stave away his thirst for the dice and actually complete his task, well, Aleksa might have been the only one to notice that Jesper had an extra note or coin in his pocket.

 It took two more days of travel through the arduous snow and ice after Nina and Matthias had joined back with them. They pushed through the whipping winds that battered against their cheeks like frozen whips... but eventually they found themselves atop the cliffs that overlooked Djerholm. The worst of their trek was behind them now, and the going was far easier as they moved south and toward the coast.

 The ice on the ground thawed, revealing small dirt paths and lime-green grass that had been revitalised by the warmth flooding the air. Signs of spring were erupting, from the light smatterings of winter aconite, or the little burst of flowers in the shapes of blue stars. Aleksa plucked one from the ground; it smelled sweet and she soon weaselled it into Inej's braid.

 Djerholm was ever so different to Ketterdam. The dingy little Barrel was a canvas of smog. The sky was flooded with heavy fog from dusk until dawn, snuffing out any sight of vibrant stars. The sea had an odd grey tinge to the waves, as though someone had sapped it of its magnificent green. Ketterdam's harbour was as dark and dingy as the rest of the city; as though someone had managed to plonk a few raggedy old boats within a bloodstained alleyway. 

 Djerhold had a harbour of its own, but it was clear. You could spy the horizon through wide eyes and watch with ease as cold-blue waves tittered here and there. The ships were all pale blue or white, while the tidy streets of Djerholm were glossed in reds and blues, pinks and yellows.