1 - Daughter Of The Storm

20 - Reminiscence Of Fresh Snow

32st day of the moon season 2448

It was a day of rest. No classes, no training. Fayne felt her mind quietly awaken to the softness of the dawn. She stretched, her blankets arranged exactly as when she had fallen asleep. She didn't move much in her sleep, unlike Azéna who always seemed to be fighting with imaginary enemies, especially since her disciplinary session. Sometimes she would mumble and moan incomprehensible words.

That morning, her behind were pointing up at the ceiling, her face was buried under her pillow and she was snoring softly. Any more and she would start drooling. She must have been plagued by nightmares again, but she never shared details.

"By Elysia's grace, Azéna," Fayne murmured, completely amazed by her friend's behavior, even when she was inanimate.

On a training day, she would normally have to get herself ready and struggle to get Azéna up on her feet. On a day like this one, she would wake up early with the second sun, go for breakfast, have time to study or research and by afternoon, Azéna would finally rise from her endless slumber.

She was thankful for these days because she could wear her own clothes that gave her the shadow of a feeling that she was home, back in Nothar at her father's tavern: the White Horn. It was the most cheerful establishment in the whole city. Locally brewed craft beer was served, snacks were prepared on the spot, and the bards made the customers dance. There, Azéna, oh sweet Azéna, was always trying, in vain, to convince her to get some alcohol for her to try. The truth is that she refused her because her father's warnings about this substance worried her.

"Some people let themselves be dominated by alcohol and this often leads to insidious consequences," Lyran grumbled every time he cleaned up a mess caused by a drunkard. "It's a gamble, it seems, kiddo. These poor fuckers just have a knack for it. The sad truth is that it simply depends if you feed the dragon."

The dragon. That's how he nicknamed evil and acted as if all the bad in this world emanated from the creature. He feared them, called them destroyers. Oftentimes, bards would tell stories of dragon hunters and he'd cheer. She wondered if he would accept Buhrik.

And she didn't like Azéna's interest in booze. In fact, she wished her father would stop selling it. Taking care of the tavern was exhausting and he was getting old. She feared a terrible accident would happen.

From the kitchen, she went to get a birthday cake for Azéna and for herself, a breakfast of fruit, an egg and some bread. She refused the ham. It reminded her of when her father had slaughtered their pet goat to make some money and she had eaten a steak without knowing that the meat was her friend. Since then, she had simply never had the heart to eat flesh.

The dessert was small and modest, as the cooks couldn't afford to spend too much time on a personal request, but it was Azéna's favorite: a no-bake pumpkin cheesecake. It was a Daigornian classic. Citizens who could afford some loved it at anytime for pumpkins grew there for most of the year. She hid it in their bedroom closet and enjoyed her breakfast as she studied.

Then she returned to the common room where she found Teriondil among other apprentices. She had read in a book that wood elves do not celebrate birthdays. She didn't know how to explain it to him, who was occasionally a bit slow-witted.

"Come to our room," she whispered in his ear, trying to be discreet.

The boy, his gaze thoughtful, took a moment to reply:

"Umm... what do you mean by that?"

Was there a perverse implication? It was an outrageous possibility, even crude. Even so, an image of them embracing sensually manifested itself in her head. She hiccupped, shaking her head. Her cheeks turned red and she looked away.