A Wolf of Ice and Iron [OLD]

Chapter 6

Adras

Tarmae had been a good brother once. I remember when I was younger, perhaps when dad was still alive, he had hugged me a few times and ruffled my dark hair. He'd teased me about the way I looked different and acted different, but he meant well. And he was the one who taught me how to read.

I can't remember the exact moment Tarmae and I grew apart. I think it was when mum locked me in my room for the first time... when I was nine, I think. Tarmae had given me a piece of his cherry scone that he bought from the market. He was proud of those scones.

After that day, we began to grow apart. Tarmae was much older than I, and he was more interested in hunting and finding someone to marry. I knew Tarmae didn't like women, but I also knew he wanted to impress mum. And I think some part of him wanted to impress dad, too.

I missed Tarmae in the dead of night, when I was alone and feeling cold despite my blankets. When I felt lonelier than usual, when I was huddled in my bearskin blankets and the world was quiet save for my breathing. I missed my older brother, who I could hug and talk to about my countless naive and childish problems.

Sometimes, when the crows called in the night, I thought of Tarmae. He used to dislike crows, and he claimed he would always hate them with a passion by the age of twenty, when they stole one of his cherry scones. But I knew better than to think he hated them. I'd seen him feeding one before.

Regardless of whether I missed Tarmae or not, I could not let him into my heart. I was afraid of my heart, too. I didn't like the feelings that hid there. They were scary, unknown, strange. Tarmae would know what to do. But we were barely brothers anymore. We were once.

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I learnt very quickly the next day, once my family had returned and unlocked my door, that Winter was a strange faerie. He was demanding and proud, but at the same time he was insecure and quiet. We did not talk often, and Winter busied himself with staring out the window and figuring out how to unlock it himself, which only took a brief hour of him scratching the glass.

He was not a talkative wolf. Winter was prepared to sit for hours on end staring out of the window, and if he wasn't doing that, he would be sleeping on my bed, curled up on the pillow he had formed into the perfect nest.

I also learnt quickly that Winter did not sleep.

His eyes were always open, and if they rarely weren't, then they would open the moment I moved. I busied myself with my drawing utensils, sketching things that came to my head. Most of them were flowers, or trees, or the odd squirrel. But as I grew more interested in my faerie's doings, these drawings evolved into a very specific wolf.

Winter had sharp features that, I realised, were fun but challenging to draw. He had a sleek noble muzzle and angled amber eyes with dark rims. His nose was black and damp, and his lips were black and often pulled back to reveal sharp pearly teeth and pinkish gums. His fur was a mixture of silver-grey and black, with faint tips of brown on his legs.

It was safe to say I hid the drawings from him. But I had a feeling that Winter knew regardless of my efforts.

The bandages were still wrapped around his head and his flank, but I was happy with how they were healing. In barely a day Winter's flank was nearly completely healed, and his head wound was making good progress. I knew this was because of his faerie healing properties, but I still found it amazing.

What are you drawing, Adras?

Winter had left his place on my bed and was sitting on the edge, peering down at me with curious dark eyes. He was a regal beast, and I was so often struck by his beauty that I would not answer his questions. But he took me off guard by asking about my drawings. I had thought he was asleep.