And The Forest Whispers

5

The first snowflake of winter was the same color as Nezumi's eyes.

          Shion caught it in the palm of his hand when he worked out in his garden, covering his crops with thick fabric to shield them from the impending snowfall and wrapping their stalks with small charms of warmth. His magic would be more than enough to keep them sustained through even the harshest cold, refueling them for another bountiful harvest when the weather improved.

          The tiny silver flake landed in the center of Shion's palm, resting in the crease stretching across his palm. His eyes traced the beautiful patterns, the loops and swirls that held the snowflake together. It only lasted a moment—the heat from Shion's skin melted the flake almost as quickly as it arrived—but the memory of its beauty imprinted itself in Shion's memory.

          He smiled. Winter could be a difficult time for him if he didn't take the time to prepare. The snow held its own sort of blustery magic, and Shion had never been able to harness it. Winter was a wild, unpredictable thing, as quick to smother and destroy as it was to dust and wane. Shion could never predict the arrival of the storms, and only his springtime magic kept him from freezing to death in his cabin.

          It had been several weeks since Nezumi had appeared outside Shion's fence. He'd vanished just as suddenly as he'd appeared, leaving no trace behind.

          Some nights when Shion lay awake in the darkness of his cabin, having willed the tiny lights down, he wondered if he'd merely imagined Nezumi's presence.

          A beautiful boy who'd swept from the heart of the woods, interested in Shion and his magic charms? Preposterous. Shion had lived in Kronos for years, and never once had one of the Mao been intrigued enough to investigate him.

          Understanding that Nezumi was nothing more than a figment of his over-active imagination both calmed and disappointed Shion. At the time, it'd felt so real—the conversation they had drifted through his mind, even now, the low timbre of Nezumi's voice rocking through his bones.

          Shion thought of Nezumi often, but he rarely dreamed of him.

          Shion rarely dreamed at all. Perhaps it was the price he'd had to pay for use of his magic. When Shion closed his eyes and drifted, he saw colors and pictures in his mind, but they never made sense. He never dreamed or prophesied the upcoming weather patterns like other witches he'd read about. Sometimes he relived his memories from childhood, down to the last detail. In those memories, nothing magical or otherworldly happened. Nothing that could be specified as a dream.

          Even so, Nezumi had never once appeared in Shion's late-night memories. Yet more proof that he'd never existed in the first place. If he'd actually appeared before him—a member of the Mao tribe, drawn to Shion's springtime magic—he would have starred in at least a few of Shion's captured memories.

          Shion took the disappointment and shoved it aside. He couldn't afford to get caught up in memories that hadn't actually happened. There were other explanations for Nezumi's abrupt presence, but they hardly mattered now. With the rapid approach of winter, heralded by the silver snowflake, Shion had to prepare for the ice and snow.

          He took a breath and went inside his cabin.

⁂

Shion woke in the middle of the night, suddenly anxious. The handle of the little silver dagger he kept tucked in the side of the cot's frame—used primarily for carving apples and veggies, but stored for self-defense—found its way into his hand. With the curtains blocking out the moonlight, none of the light from the stars in the sky glinted in the blade, but the blue glow of the luminous blue flower charms caught in the edge.