Under The Weather (Olberic x Primrose)

The Frostlands

Snowflakes glided in the air among the frosty breeze. A blanket of white covered the land for as far as the eyes could see. Primrose pulled the oversized blue tunic she wore closer to her as another chilling wind passed, caressing her exposed skin with its icy touch. Had it not been for Olberic's generosity in lending her his tunic upon entering the Frostlands, she didn't know if she would have still been standing at this moment. She glanced around at her party; Therion had his arms crossed with a foul scowl on his face as the occasional wind would expose his covered left eye. Alfyn's had tucked his arms into his vest and wore his satchel as if it were a piece of armor, covering his chest. Ha'anit and Olberic led the group at the front, also looking a little uncomfortable, but not as bad the three behind them. Everyone was trying to fend off the cold and save their energy, which left for a desolate and unusual silence among a usually lively group. The occasional howls of the wind, the sound of feet trudging in the snow and the incessant chattering of Alfyn's teeth were the only sounds that were heard. As another wind picked up, Ha'anit decided to break the ice.

"By the spirits, the snow falleth deep here. The wind cutteth to the bone."

"S-Seriously! Olberic, h-how much longer t-til we r-reach Still-s-snow...?" Aflyn whined, unable to stop his intense shivering.

"It should lie just beyond these slopes. Everyone, keep your wits about you. We're almost there." Olberic said, turning his head slightly to make sure no one had trailed behind.

"Yeah, easy for you to say underneath all that warm armor!" spat a scowling Therion, as he clutched his purple poncho closer to his chest.

It's safe to say no one was ready for the freezing weather that the Frostlands and it's snowstorms had to offer. Least of all Primrose, who had spent a good majority of her life seeking shade from the blazing sun in the Sunlands and usually wore an attire that communicated it so.

"I fear mayhap we have maden a mistake. It wouldeth been wiser to stop at Flamesgrace and stocketh on food and proper clothing." spoke Ha'anit as she eyed her companion Linde, who also seemed to be struggling in the relentless gales.

"N-No! I can't afford...to lose another minute! I must reach Stillsnow as soon as possible!" Primrose insisted as she trudged forward, despite tears beginning to form at her eyes from the chilling wind that went against her face.

She didn't know what was powering her momentum at this point; whether sheer determination to get out of this indomitable weather or her deep hatred for the man who would be awaiting her at Stillsnow. The man, one of three, who was responsible for the murder of her beloved father.

'The left wing of the crow...soon...this icy tundra will be your grave...just you wait...'

Olberic remained silent as he eyed the stubborn dancer. He knew Ha'anit was right. Logic and reason would have originally coerced their group into traveling to Flamesgrace and restocking on much-needed supplies before venturing further north. It was only because of Primrose's adamant insistence that they hurry to Stillsnow, that they didn't. He was the first to meet her and he was the only one thus far, who knew of her true motives for reaching the desolate snow village -- to chase after one of the men who was responsible for her father's death. He knew her desperation to seek out the truth and recognized the look in her eyes when she pleaded with the group to continue straight to Stillsnow; after all, she was so close -- too close to stop now, in her own thoughts. Yes, ever since they had entered the Frostlands, he had watched her demeanor change. Her vision and judgment had become tunneled; the thought that only a few miles away stood the man who took everything from her -- she had been overcome by that emotion.

An emotion he knew all too well from his own past; a look he also wore upon hearing Erhardt's name after all these years back in Cobblestone. An emotion that perchance would take over him too, the day he crossed swords with Erhardt again. Perhaps that was the reason he took her side; why he chose to let feelings, Primrose's feelings, guide him and not logic. But as he watched her steps grow slower and those around him grow increasingly agitated, he wondered if he had erred in his newfound judgment.