The Weaver's Source

Chapter 28

In the later part of the afternoon, after we had just reached the dense woodland filled with giant oaks, aspens and hazels, a great storm came. First the temperature cooled a little and the wind began to pick up with the sound of distant rumbling growing louder rapidly, alerting Grigore. He paused, glancing at me warily. 

"A storm's coming."

I bobbed my head in agreement, eyeing the clouds with dislike. "We need shelter."

Grigore's jaw steeled however. "No. We continue through."

"Grigore, I can't walk through a storm in the dark." I warned.

He glanced at me sharply, his body full of defensive hostility and his gaze accusing me almost.

 "Then go home, but I'm walking through that storm as I would with any other. If you want to follow, follow." He tugged his hood up deftly. "Your magic will keep you healthy and the cold should be kept at bay by moving."

And then he was gone, sweeping onwards deeper into the woods. I wrapped myself up tightly and barrelled after him. A storm wasn't going to put me off being near him nor was he going to chase me off with his temper. I was going to keep him safe. I just didn't realise how bad the storm was going to be.

Fat heavy droplets, ice-cold and sharp, pelted down almost instantly, sweeping over the world. Within moments I was drenched. My clothes were sticking to me and my unruly hair was plastered to my wet face. My soaked body shivered horribly as the biting wind howled about me and the icy droplets hurt my eyes, forcing me to squint. The clouds above had darkened the world considerably, practically giving the impression of night while it was only late afternoon. The lightning however gave small bursts of blinding light, allowing us to see where we were going for a brief moment. The thunder hurt my ears though. It roared and rolled in the sky, shaking the earth with every lash of lightening.

I kept close to Grigore but every time I reached out to him to seek guidance in the thickening dark, he would withdraw. I stared at the back of his head as he marched onwards through the downpour, his back rigid and his song stiff and cold. He had become worse in such a short amount of time. Whenever I spoke to him since we left the farm he would just ignore me or give me a simple blunt answer. He had once been quite happy to help me up if I fell or clamber down sharp slopes, but that stopped shortly after midday. I didn't understand why but my magic was becoming a little more active, calling out to him. It wanted me to touch him and it was growing more and more insistent within me. Almost pleading. I didn't say anything, simply watched him with a worried gaze. Something was wrong.

Swiftly I was numb to the bone, shivering violent and could barely feel my limbs, trudging after him stubbornly. But then Grigore abruptly stopped. He turned on me, hostile and taut as he swallowed me up with his irritable gaze. No doubt I looked feeble, like a drowned rat, and I opened my mouth to ask why he stopped until he gestured sharply with his stubbled chin. There was a curve in the hill, a shelf of rock and earth, which loomed a few steps from the path, just enough to allow us to rest without being attacked by the vicious storm's full strength. He simply pointed when his voice failed to reach my ears and I obeyed quietly with relief, huddling in a ball and pressing my back against the earth behind me. It didn't keep the rain from reaching me completely but it at least gave me protection from the biting wind the whistled through my body.

Grigore made a move to join me but froze when he noticed how little space there was. Instead he retreated and braved the storm.

"Grigore, there is enough room for the both of us." I said, trying to keep my teeth from chattering and speak clearly enough that he'd actually hear me. "It may be a little cramped but we would be warmer that way."