Hazel
Any disappointment I might have had at not getting to see Kaitlyn today is, literally, washed away by the most tremendous downpour from the storm we simply could not outrun.
I am pleased we only saw the spooky troops from a distance though. Something in the way they moved, almost predatorily, made my hair stand on end.
Warden isn’t wrong. The Yeavering is a very different place, even to the Night Lands, which now seem rather tame and quiet in comparison to this place.
Water runs down my neck, soaking into my clothing, which is also wet enough to wring out. The rain cascades over my boots and drips onto the ground as Warden slows his pace.
I am chilled to the bone, my teeth chattering. I lean into my big Brag in the hope he might be able to share some warmth with me.
“Little mare?” Warden queries.
“I’m freezing,” I respond.
“There are some dwellings up ahead. We should be able to find shelter there.” He increases his pace.
I’m not entirely sure how much longer I can hang onto him.
My fingers don’t want to work, and I can’t feel my arms or my lower legs.
Getting this wet, in a dress of this voluminosity, is not a good thing.
The clammy fabric sticks to every single part of me, and even though we’re moving slower, it’s getting colder by the second.
I squeeze my eyes closed and concentrate on not falling off as Warden keeps on going. I can’t imagine he’s warm either, but he doesn’t seem to be shivering like me.
“Open up!” I hear him bellow and open my eyes.
We’re stood in front of a cottage. There are lights inside and I can smell woodsmoke. Warden pounds on the door.
“Open up, we need shelter,” he growls.
I want to open my mouth and suggest he use a different tone, but my teeth are chattering so much I can’t even speak.
The door does not open. There are no sounds at all from inside.
In the weird swirling way Warden changes from Brag to human, something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to, I’m in his arms instead of on his back. He clutches me to him as he tries the latch.
“I…don’t…” I get all of two words out, and my jaw clenches so hard I’m afraid I’ll break a tooth.
The door opens and there is a blast of warm air.
Any concerns I had for wandering uninvited into someone’s home disappear instantly. Warden half carries me inside and over to the fire which is burning merrily in the hearth. Before I can say anything, he’s stripping off my dress and pulling out a dry blanket from his saddlebags.
“Sit here.” He gently pushes me down onto a small wooden stool next to the fire before adding a few more logs. “I’m going to find the owner and tell them we’re staying here for tonight.”
I don’t disagree with him. I can’t really, because I’m still too cold to speak. All I can do is check he’s left my sword in reach and watch him exit the property, closing the door behind him.
I stare around the room. The place is basic but homely. There are stairs in the centre, I can see a scullery in the rear, and the main room where I am contains a table and two beautifully crafted rocking chairs which are covered with pretty crocheted blankets.
I wonder where the occupants are, why they’d leave this bright, warm home on a night like this, leaving the fire burning in the grate.
I’m beginning to thaw when the door latch rattles.
But no one enters. I have enough feeling returned to pick up the sword and hold it in front of me.
I don’t want to use it. I don’t even want to think about using it, knowing what it can do.
However, if it’s not Warden outside, and not the owners of this house, then…
In my hand, the sword feels like it’s heating up, not so that it’s uncomfortable, but almost like it’s making ready. The latch flicks up and down again. I’m laser focussed on the movement. The door isn’t locked, so I don’t understand why whoever is out there isn’t coming in.
“Who’s there?” I find my voice, my jaw having finally relaxed. “I’m here with Warden, the Brag, jailer of the Shadow Keep. We got caught in the storm. We just need somewhere to get dry and warm.”
Although it seems unlikely whoever is outside is the owner of this place, I may as well let them know who we are and why we’re here.
Now there is silence.
The logs in the fire crackle and sizzle. The sword cools. I pull the blanket a little closer around my shoulders because it smells of Warden.
The door bursts open, and I’m on my feet, ready for a fight. The wind whips through the place, blowing out the candles and leaving only the glow of the fire.
“I warn you,” I growl. “I’m armed.”
“So am I,” comes the response.