Cherished

What an adorable boy!

In the hush of the snowy forest, the sound of crunching snow and breaking branches underfoot breaks the silence. Amid this winter scene, a man stands, unaffected by the cold. His gaze is fixed on a line of blood marking the white snow, eyes cold, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"Master, we've found the traitors. What shall you have us do?" A man asked, one of his hands dusting the snow off of the other man's shoulders.

"..."

"Of course. And the girl?"

"Let her go. She won't get far." The man turned, a snowflake flowing right past his eyes and landing on the tip of his shoe. It sparkled so dutifully, so brightly; despite the heat pushing from his body, it didn't melt. It almost felt like it was looking back at him.

He took a step and it didn't move. It didn't even falter.

"Have you found something to accompany you?" The other man asked, slight humor in his voice as his eyes quickly picked up the object on his master's foot.

"I suppose." He walked. Slowly and carefully, eyes continued to glance down at the flake. It felt like a part of him, it wouldn't leave him, as crazy as that sounded. There were no droplets of water, indicating it was soon to melt or any blowing wind to signify it might fly away. Then he heard a crunch. The breaking of a branch in the distance. It wasn't his men, they walked with stealth and precision.

He could hear the pitter patter of feet growing closer and closer. It couldn't be an animal, it was too far in winter. He stood still, an assassin? Couldn't be. One that foolish to make such loud steps?

He could hear everything they were doing, every little step, every gasp of breath, almost every flutter of their eyelashes. Then he heard it emerge from a bush, hands parting the branches ever so softly. The person couldn't be any older than four, possibly five. He couldn't even tell if it was a boy or girl.

He figured the child would get scared and run, they always do but instead the child inched forward. Eyes staring down at the snow as he crept closer and closer.

He could hear a voice in his head telling him to turn away. Run away if necessary. Everything and everyone around him eventually got hurt, why would this child be any different?

"C-Can I 'ave the snowflake?" The child's voice was timid and faint but it was clear. The clearest any stranger had ever spoke to him.

He didn't know what to say. How to reproach the child. The snowflake that was slowly starting to melt away at his foot? The snowflakes on his coat? A snowflake in the air?

The child must've took his silence as permission, taking a few steps closer before his hand shakily gripped the man's coat. Grasping at a chain that the older man had forgotten was even there.

At the end of the chain was a small white rosary, hanging from the chain on a ripping piece of twine. From the right angle, the accessory he had forgotten about could appear as a snowflake.

The child tugged on it, once, then twice before looking up at the man. Hands too cold to keep trying and arms too weak to break the string.

"That isn't a snowflake child."

"What is it?"

"It's a rosary."

The child's eyes widened in curiosity, the innocence of their gaze piercing through the man's hardened exterior. The man couldn't just brush the child away.

"A rosary?" The child echoed, fingers still lightly gripping the chain as if it held some profound mystery.

"Yes, it's a... a symbol of faith," the man replied hesitantly, his voice rough from disuse.