The Weaver's Source

Chapter 7

I don't know how long I clutched Gabi but it was for a while. At first she laughed until she realised something had scared me. She constantly asked as to what but I refused to say. I didn't want to alarm her about the dream. As long as Otto did as he promised and I remained vigilant, Gabi should remain safe. She didn't warm to my silence though and made her quite irritable and quiet for the remainder of the evening. I however was quiet out of unease. I knew what I needed to do to find out the meaning behind the dream of Gabi. I had to speak to Grigore, the Weaver. He would know what to do. I hoped anyway. 

Either way, I would find out in the morning. As soon as the sun was up, I was going down to the river. By what Otto said, I guessed I would find him there. I couldn't exactly go into the town to find him and I didn't want Gabi with me. She was not going near that river, not until I knew what the dream was.

It took a long time to get to sleep. Flashes of the nightmare kept darting in front of my eyes whenever I closed them and in the end I just stared up at the dark ceiling. The wind howled outside and rattled the thin window and rain was pouring down so hard that the racket filled the whole house. A storm ruled the skies as the night wore on, flashing and roaring. It didn't help me sleep at all but eventually exhaustion took me and forced me into a fitful doze filled with blank dreams.

I woke with dawn. It was cold in my room and the chilled air that nipped at my feet almost convinced me to stay in bed, but desire to find Weaver Grigore and ensure nothing was to happen to Gabi propelled me out of bed. I didn't waste much time and only scrubbed myself down with warm water in hopes it would help stop my eyes from stinging and wake up my sluggish brain. Before long I was outside and trooping of the marsh towards the river.

It was quite cold today. The ground was barely visible due to a thick mist that had descended and the mud was especially treacherous after the night's storm. The sun was blotted out of the sky by thick clouds and, once again, rain was drizzling pathetically from above. Rain never seemed to stop falling during autumn. I tugged the hood tighter around my head and pressed my knuckles against my mouth so I could breathe on them now and then. The gloves weren't doing much to keep the damp cold away from my hands.

When I reached the river bank, I paused and observed the water and land cautiously. There wasn't much there other than the churning river, bracken and bedraggled trees that surrounded it. I soothed my magic as best as I could but it remained in its stiff little ball and caused my chest to ache every time I inhaled the frosty air. I grumbled in annoyance at its refusal to budge and wondered how I was going to find Grigore without getting myself killed by whatever lurked in the water until something filled my nose and touched my tongue. That familiar scent of woodsmoke and the sweetness of honeyed milk. The song of magic from my dreams and, more importantly, of the Weaver. Following the strange mixture of taste and scent, I drifted up stream where the trees became slightly more dense, keeping close to the banks but far away enough that there was no risk of me falling in by accident. As I ducked under boughs and pushed through thorns and bracken, I came to a sudden stop at the top of a gentle dip in the earth. My eyes latched onto a body laying a few feet from the water, utterly unmoving. I instantly recognised him. It was Grigore.

At first sheer panic filled me. Was he hurt? Was he alive? The only reason the panic didn't blossom into ice cold fear was because of the ball of magic. It filled me with warmth at the sight of him and it calmed swiftly despite the monster infested water only some paces from me. It assured me he was fine but it didn't stop me wanting to check for wounds. There was blood on his filthy shirt and numerous tears in his clothes, even his jack was damaged lightly. 

I clambered down the slope as gracefully as I could, but the earth was unstable and heavy with water, so I ended up slipping and falling. Thankfully it wasn't summer, the mud would be far more uncomfortable to land on when rock solid, and I simply sprayed myself with clods of earth. I allowed myself only a moment to recover from the fall before I stood up, smearing away the mud on my face and hurried to the side of the Weaver who was lying not too far from me.