The Weaver's Source

Chapter 102

Snow drifted down thickly, creating a white haze about me. It hadn't stopped all day, constant and heavy, but at least the wind never howled and the world was bright.

Grigore kept close to me, strong and comforting as his magic swept over me constantly, his walk fluid as his attention swept over our surroundings. Thick white clumps had gathered thickly on his fur hood and broad shoulders, which he shook away whenever he paused to find the path winding between the sparse pine and ash trees. It was hard. The trial was completely covered and even the sticks dipped in blue paint that marking it were becoming harder to see. The thickness of the snow had become so dense that I could barely see anything beyond the first line of trees. Everything else was engulfed in white.

It was cold, incredibly cold, and had only gotten worse throughout our hike. My nose was bright red and my cheeks ached from the cold, even the strands of hair that poked out from under my hat had turned white from ice. Grigore hadn't trusted the huge black cloud though or the incredible bitter wind and had planted several warming wards on my skin. He had stopped me several times to ensure they still twirled lazily on my neck and fixed any that had stopped.

"Why couldn't the snow just stay away?" I grumbled irritably to myself, not for the first time. This winter was nothing like I had back home.

Grigore laughed lightly, his gaze sweeping over my cold irritable expression. "You really are a summer woman." He commented. "The snow isn't that bad."

I looked up at him as he pulled away the layers from my neck, gazing at his rough features, scarred and rugged, and watching his eyes. They looked darker despite his good mood and full reserves, almost black with the white snow surrounding us.

"They seem to be holding still." Grigore mumbled. "Are you warm enough?"

I nodded lightly, trying not to hands as they lightly stroked the warming wards. "I don't see how people can live up here." I muttered.

He smiled lightly, amusement shifting in him, as he lowered his mouth to brush mine softly.

"We shouldn't be too far." Grigore said in a comforting tone as he set off again.

I followed closely, forcing my feet through the compacted snow in slow jerks. It was hard walking now. It had been a lot easier a couple of hours ago but now the snow was so thick I could barely lift my legs.

After some time of trudging onwards through the thin trunked trees with their branches splaying out far above our heads, we saw something new. Just beyond through the thick curtain of trailing snow was a tiny hut. It was smaller than Annis' but taller and raised up on tiny stilts. Crooked steps swept down from the porch and a wonky chimney protruded from the tops of the oval roof. A few paces before it, barely visibly, was a brick well and a small stable.

"Is that it?" I asked, swallowing from the worry that churned in my stomach.

Grigore tilted his head as he gazed at the tiny hut that sat snuggled between trees. "I would say so. The markers stop just before it." He glanced back at me, watching me with a curious gaze before he held out a glove hand. "I'm here with you."

I swallowed my fear and took his hand, letting him guide me closer to the witch's hut. We trudged passed the well, a small thing with the bucket mostly hidden beneath the snow, and came to the crooked grey brick steps. Grigore let go of my hand and made his way up, reaching to rap his knuckles against the red wood. After a short time of waiting and knocking, Grigore gave up.

"No one's in." He growled irritably. I didn't blame him. We had been marching through snow all day and the idea of going back without finding anything out was irritating. Grigore's eyes narrowed as he gazed at my face before he turned and gripped the handle, wrenching it violently to break the lock.