A Wolf of Ice and Iron [OLD]

Chapter 9

Adras

When I wake, Winter is gone. I sit up groggily, blinking sleep and snowflakes from my eyelashes. The snow has crusted along my eyes during the night and it hurts to blink, but after a few moments of wiping them and forcing my eyes open and closed, the sting ceases.

I open my pack and bring out a small water skin. I had thought to bring a lot of things, but in the end I narrowed it down to what would fit in the smallest pack possible. I didn't want to weigh myself down too much during travel, in the likely occurrence of needing to run for our lives.

I examine my belongings I have tugged along. A water skin that is currently empty; a box of matches I do not know how to use; my bearskin blanket, which takes up most of the space; my hunting knife; Tarmae's bow and arrows that I snagged from the kitchen; a handful of dried deer meat; mum's healing salve; a change of clothes. Only the essentials. Well... maybe besides the bearskin blanket and the spare clothes.

I jump as Winter stalks through the pine trees, the needles clattering behind him as he moves. His head is low and his amber eyes are hopeful as he looks at me - whatever he hopes to find, he seems to be satisfied, and his eyes soften.

He sits beside me and sniffs tentatively at the contents of my pack. His lip curls a little as he sniffs at Tarmae's bow and arrows, nose twitching in distaste. Then he looks back at me curiously, his eyes friendly and kind. They have captured the world just in those irises, and yet all I can see is my reflection.

Winter hardly pauses this time when he runs his nose along my hand. The fur on his muzzle is soft but brittle and wiry at the same time, and it smells faintly of pine sap. It is comforting as he touches my hand, my wrist, my arm. Then he draws back, those burning eyes caring and understanding and soft. But at the same time they are wild, and I am reminded that we cannot, and will not, be equals.

Winter stares at me, his amber eyes an inferno of dancing flame. He tilts his head back and takes a pace back, then another. I watch.

You wanted to see my true form, Winter says, his voice but a whisper in my mind, and yet it carries along every nerve and fibre I possess. I am able to show you.

"You regained your power that quickly?" I ask, my eyes widening in surprise, my jaw feeling slack. Winter must be a very powerful type of faerie if he regained his power after a mere hour or two of sleep at my side. It should be a terrifying concept, but as much as I try to muster the fear all I can manage is awe and a sense of pride.

Winter nods, his eyes glistening with a sort of embarrassment I am astounded to see. Yes. And... quite frankly, I miss it. He gives a deep sigh, his breath misting in the chilly autumn air.

I barely have time to respond to that before magic crackles in the air. Its metallic, coppery scent is rank in my nose, strong and yet gentle at the same time. I wouldn't say I like the scent, but I also do not. It is a confusing feeling, but I don't dwell on it for more than half a second.

Winter is engulfed in a sort of bright light, which I sense would be a colour if only I could see it with my human eyes. I shield my eyes as it grows even brighter, and they start to water at the sight of it burning so brightly.

Our small circle drops at least ten degrees in temperature before I remove my hand from my eyes. I drop it into my lap, and what I am staring at... what I am staring at is something I'd never thought I'd see in all my life. Something so strong and innate and powerful and beautiful that I am struck speechless. A faerie in its full glory.

What stands before me is a faerie unlike the ones in books I have read, unlike the ones in the recounted horror stories of travellers. A regal creature that looks every part royalty that I do pauper, who dwarfs me not in size but in regalia. I am dumbfounded and blown away by sheer beauty, power, and the wildness reflected in only his posture.

He has thin white hair that falls across his shoulders, untangled and silky and smooth. It shines like a single wave and not as separate strands, and it cascades around his broad but thin lanky shoulders. He wears brown boots that come up to his knees, and he wears pale brown pants that are long to match the length of his legs.

A shirt that is grey, an overcoat that is pale blue. Bracers across his wrists that are silver and glinting in the pale light of day seeping between the trees, metal bracers that look like liquid moonlight and are engraved with flowers I have never seen before but somehow look familiar.

His skin is fair, porcelain white like the snow he stands in, and his facial features are angled and sharp and yet, to me, they are like a caress of darkness, a soft loving touch on my skin that leaves me shivering from anything but the cold.

His ears are pointed, his eyebrows are pale and sharp. His nose is angled and poised and every part of him is graceful but also wild and dangerous, as if he is poised to either flee or attack but cannot decide which.

I am not speaking, hardly breathing. My breath has been stolen by a thousand nymphs in the trees and I do not seek it returned just yet. Winter has taken my breath from me, and I am loathe to let him return it.

He is unrecognisable down to his ears and toes from the wolf that once was, it makes my heart ache and pound in so many directions. He is handsome and wiry and tall and wild. I do not recognise his body, but oh, those eyes. They make me weak in every part of my being, and I don't think he knows to what extent it truly affects me.

I could be dreaming a million planets away, and I would still recognise those burning amber eyes as his.