☯ Common ☯ Irarian ☯
76th Trial of Zi’da, Arc 698
It was strange, really, how Zi’da could be so harsh in Hyran this time of year. One would think, settled so close to the ocean, that the sunbeams would somehow reflect onto the land, and warm it up more so than what it was. This was a silly idea, Warren realized, because the snow was still thick and present and smothering.
A puff of air clouded his vision as small boots climbed on top of a rocky edge, a small cliff face greeting him as he looked down to assess the area. There were trees everywhere and if their dead branches didn’t blend in with the next, the green pines obscured his field of vision with piles of snow. The pounding of his heart thudded in his ears, singing the song of fear as he watched the sun begin to settle on the horizon. It was getting dark, and Warren was no closer to figuring out where they were than he was breaks before hand.
“Ren… I’m cold.” A small voice called from behind him, and he turned with bright blue eyes toward Altea, his younger sister. She wore a thick dress with a leather jacket over her small shoulders, but even still, her cheeks were chapped red, as were her hands, and she was shivering like a mouse.
Warren climbed down quickly, taking off the cloak his mother fashioned for him and draped it around his sister’s shoulders. He bundled her up, then pulled the hood over her head to conceal her from the cold.
“There, Alte. Better?” He asked, beginning to look around them once more. She gave a small nod.
“Have you found Papa yet?” Her voice mumbled. Warren grimaced.
“No, but I think I saw smoke off in that direction.” He pointed,
“We’re close, Alte.” He lied.
“My feet hurt, Ren…” Altea shivered.
Warren frowned,
“Didn’t you wear your boots?” Without pause, and inappropriately, he bent and lifted the cloak and her skirts to see her feet.
“Alte! Momma told you to wear your boots!”
“They hurt!” She yanked the fabric down.
“And Momma says boys aren’t supposed to do that!”
Warren tossed his hands up in the air, much like his father when him and his mother would argue. Altea had worn her flats, and from the looks of it, her feet were swollen red and probably on the verge of frostbite. They needed to get someplace warm, Warren knew, but where and how? He couldn’t start a fire without his father’s tinderbox… The only thing they could hope for was to find a hole or a tree or something… something to keep warm in so they could survive the cold.
His stomach growled hungrily. Warren was becoming impatient and fearful, the concern for his meek sister setting off all sorts of primal alarms in his head. They weren’t doing good…
“Come on, Altea. I’ll carry you, but we’ve got to keep moving or else we’ll never get home.” Warren sighed, his own exhaustion blooming a headache behind his eyes, but he carried on even when his sister climbed onto his back. Picking a direction, he walked…
And walked…
And walked until the shroud of night welcomed them and his legs quivered with the last bit of strength he had left. He felt his sisters shivering stop after a while and assumed she’d warmed up a bit, but when she started to slip and slide on his back, he paused.
“Altea?” He asked but was given only a small mumble.
“Altea, are you sleepy?”
She sounded a noise that confirmed such suspicions.
“Okay, we can stop here for the night. Come on Alte.” Warren spoke weakly and, as best he could, helped his sister from his back and into the hole of an overturned tree. It’s roots jutted above the ground, forming a canopy of leaves that protected the soil inside from the snow. Warren tucked Altea in, resting up beside her before taking a bit of the cloak he gave her and pulling it over him. It wasn’t enough… He shivered and sat up, looking around them for something more. They were too use to sleeping in cozy beds by a warm fire than nothing stuck out in the blackness of night.
Blue eyes looked to his sister, but she was already fastly asleep, so, deciding not to wake her, Warren leaned over and shoveled the pile of dead leaves over them. Once safely underneath the rot, the boy settled down and cuddled closer to his sister. She was cold… but she wasn’t shivering. That was good, right?
His eyes slid shut and while his heart still pounded in his chest, exhaustion took him from the world of the living and into the abyss of unconsciousness.
Laughter roused him by he was too faded to open his eyes, though, underneath his lids, he could make out impressions of light. Had their Papa found them? He was so tired.
“Ren! Ren, wake up!” His sister’s enthusiastic voice beckoned him. Warren sighed, he just wanted to sleep.
“Ren, get up!” He was expecting a shove but one never came.
“No, Altea. Go away.”
“Ren, come on, they found us! We can go home now.” Altea tried to convince him and, with what little awareness Warren had, he forced his eyes open.
It was like a swarm of fireflies fell from the skies and circled around the pair, dancing softly in a breeze that wasn’t present. If Warren hadn’t felt so numb, so tired, his shock would have pushed him beneath the cloak and leaves. Alas, he couldn’t move, even if he wanted to. Above, at the rim of the hole they laid within, was a familiar man who stood tall, lanky but built, with hair the color of shadows. Next to him was Altea. She whipped her head around and scurried away from his field of vision, but Warren hadn’t noticed. His eyes were locked on that of the man’s. He stared at Warren, hands in the pockets of his slacks as a short sleeve tunic sat upon his shoulders. He wore nothing else. Not even shoes.
It was the dead of winter! How could he not wear shoes? Something wasn’t right here and pulling for strength, Warren only managed to turn his body onto his back. It sung with pain.
“Altea— no!” Her brother breathed, his lungs heavy.
“Tea, come back!”
As requested, she tumbled back into his view with a smile on her face.
“Warren, quit being lazy and get up.” Her hand reached out.
“Come on, let’s go!”
“No—!”
A slender hand reached out and caught her own, the man beside her was bent at the knees so he was eye level with the girl.
“No.” His voice commanded.
“He cannot go.” Altea furrowed her brow and pulled her hand away.
“Why not? You said we were going home.” The girl moved away.
Another figure approached— a woman, tall and curvaceous with long gray hair and eyes that glowed with the rest of her form. She leaned down and petted Altea's head, beckoning the girl’s blue eyes to her red ones.
“Fear not,” The woman soothed,
“Your Papa will be here to help him back home. He is tired, let him sleep a little longer.” Her hand reached down, offering to help the girl up.
“It’s cold here, isn’t it..? There is a warmer place waiting for you. Your Papa will know where you have gone, and he and your mother and brother will see you in time, young one.”
A moment of hesitation lingered until Altea’s small hand reached for the woman’s blackened one. She was helped up and turned back to Warren with a somewhat quirky smile.
“You’re so lazy, Warren. Why do you have to sleep so much? Geez.” She joked lightly, though there was a bit of uncertainty in her eyes.
“Don’t sleep too long.”
“Alte, no—” Warren kept saying, but his voice was squeezed for air and his chest heaved.
"No, no, no, no..!" He didn’t realize it, but he was sobbing.
“Altea, don’t go with them..!” A broken voice called. Tears slid down his cheeks, red, chapped and frozen. The salt stung and the pain only made it worse. This was real..!
"Altea..! Alltteea!" He sobbed.
"Come back! Nooo!"
The fireflies around him drifted away, fading along with the glow the woman emitted. The man had paused to stay behind and watched the boy, a knowing look in his eyes before he ducked his head and dragged himself up from his bent position in front of the hole. He said nothing, letting Warren weep into the silence of the night, disappearing with the spirit of his sister and the woman that took her...
