For Winter - Yarti/Snakestone/Fanar-Child/Fannah-Child

For Winter

Morning. A shimmering mist danced through the rafters signalling it's return. Above the covers, a cold room. This light mist like a fire tickling bits of exposed skin. It couldn't compare to the warmth of the hidden skin, but it was a welcome thing. I rolled over, giving Snake a gentle brush across the cheek. "Time to go".

Seated at the foot of the bed, I took a band in hand and set to balling up my hair. It was getting a bit long lately. For winter, it's easier to deal with this way. These are the busy days. Saturalia is around the corner, the house needs cleaning. More cleaning than usual. And stockpiling of goods, fresh and preserved food, much more than on an average month. There could be guests, dinners. The kids must be clean, cleaner than usual. Their best clothes on-hand just in case someone arrives for holidays. Preparedness is the key. We never know until the time has come, so the entire month is treated as though it were the night before the eve. Lugging of packages from the porch to the living room, bumping down the ladder to the cellar, on to the storeroom past the hall. A delivery nearly every day, but not today. Today, we work. A simple job? Nearby at least. No one would like a cross country trek at this time of year. Well, I might.

Our job brings us, surprisingly, to the sewers of Whiterun. I would be thankful for the balled up hair soon, I thought. After breakfast, I took the kids in hand and brought them to the living room. From each of us, a quick peck on each cheek, a ruffling of hair, hugs abound and we were off. A brisk jog across the yard, up to town. Weaving through alleys and through backstreets, the morning bustle not yet aroused. Along the way, we talked. I lead, my right hand rarely leaving his waist or hip, my left traced along the passing buildings. Cold stone, cold air. Cold stone, cold air. And then a hedge. Soft petals beneath my probing fingers. Snake took to plucking those very flowers as he passed. He plucked stealthy, darting behind his back where the work commenced. I knew his intent well, as my ever-growing smile might suggest should he be able to see it from back there. Thankfully, he could not, and I kept quiet, his surprise safe, beginning to hum to myself contently. By the time we came into view of the sewer grate, he had fashioned a beautiful flower corsage and placed it atop my head. Our glee soon fell as the stench sunk in. What a miserable place to meet. At the moment, our suspicions were that he were an outlaw. Who else would hide in a sewer?

The letter that brought us here included a map. Scribbles on a piece of parchment. They were accurate and we had soon stumbled on our client's makeshift home. A tent pitched against the back wall, a roaring fire beside it, much too close in my opinion. The nearest bit of fabric lie black, a light coating of soot. Smoke filled the room. One might complain, but it does mask the scent of the sewer. On the far wall hung a portrait of an unsightly man, and to the right of that, a small fellow tended to a barrel of mead. Short. Much shorter than I even. At the sound of our nearing footsteps he turned to greet us. His face flush with sickness or for other reasons, I knew not and would not ask. He sniffled his nose between words and spoke quickly. Some Cyrodylic accent that made it difficult to grasp exactly what he was saying. At times we would gesture, trying to make heads or tails of his words, leading only to a shaken head and another rant. Before we had our bearings, he found himself again at the mead barrel. Downing a glass and beginning again. At once he grew quiet. His head tilting down, his eyes piercing his wrenching palms. Then as quick as it had came, it was gone. He grinned, lifting a hand. "The Painting?". The first intelligible words so far. He waddled across the room and stood before his precious painting. Pointing his stubby fingers up at it, he mumbled again. I looked to Snake and found his eyes searching for mine as well. Our hushed voices were our own. The crackling fire masked them well. Snake was as confused as I was. We had been here for several minutes and knew no more than we did when we walked in. I spoke up, "No, I don't believe we have". I stepped up beside him and had a look at this painting. "Quite the resemblance" I piped, moving aside so Snake could step up. Seemingly happy that we had looked at it, he threw himself into the chair and made himself comfortable. A hand sprung up and his head came to rest upon it. He mumbled again, questioningly this time. We looked to each other again. Snake tried to explain, we were told to come here and would like to help if he would have us, meeting only confused glances and more questionable bubbling. Tiring. Snake assertively lifted his hand. Ready to call it quits when the man extended his other hand. Sliding a piece of parchment into his wrongly awaiting palm. As his hand drew back to his lap, he ushered us away, mumbling again to himself. We took our chance and hastily made our exit, waving and nodding to him, still unsure what we had gotten ourselves into. Snake and I talked on the way back to the entrance, he held fast on the parchment until we had better lighting, and better air to breath. What an odd little man.

Snake went ahead to the carriage to pay our fare while I returned to the house to check on the kids. With the sound of hoof-beats on the soft gravel highway, I made my leave, joining Snake on the carriage bound south. Through the cooling fields and into the yet colder woods. Another bumpy hour or so, then the rest of the journey on foot. A waning sunset stroll down a quiet path. Pink fog dotted the distant peaks, violet rays cutting down between branches. A relaxing walk. Snake strode to my right, just a bit of ahead of me. If I had moved a little to the right, his statuesque form would have put me in perpetual shade for the whole of the walk. But that would have taken his face out of view. I liked to watch him as he walked. And the sunlight. The way it played with the leaves overhead. The trees themselves, tall, strong. Eternal in their place. Immovable. Their branches and canopies wide, their girth blocking swathes of sunlight. Walking from under the shade and into the direct sunlight, again and again, I came to enjoy having it kiss my forehead and down the back of my neck. It was just the slightest bit warmer under it's light. A tingling warmth in small bursts. I looked to Snake again, trying to discern if he was enjoying the place as much as I. Surely he was. The job could have waited. A small break was in order. So many secluded thoughts in secluded places. Far off, birds sung, as if to us. My eyes traced the underbrush in search of a place to call camp, should we grow tired and in need of a quick break. A romantic place. It grew difficult to keep my eyes off him, but still they searched for places to rest, should we need to. I asked. Two times, perhaps three. Snake wanted to press on, and so we did. Just off the path we found the mine, as directed by the map. Snake took out his journal and the parchment to compare. From the scribbles, it looked as though we were to find a journal or book of some sort. The sun drew to a close above us, we could tarry no longer.

We found ourselves in combat immediately. No words, only a flash of light from my palm before he could get within a maces reach of us. A guard. The dimly lit opening fed into a larger cavern. The mining operation was still on-going. Illegally, I assumed from the hostility. In no time we were spotted and set upon again. We split and tried to reduce their numbers. Some miners took up their pickaxes against us and gave no choice. Others ignored us, continuing to work or fleeing. Snake plowed through them. Crumbled men marked his path through the room. My magics left a red haze around him, doubling his resolve. Snilla-Nilyn had it's fill of the women, the rest met magic. The remaining miners abandoned their posts and fled, some thanking us on the way out. As the cave grew quiet, we at last had time to get our bearings. The main chamber was the base of operations. They had laid out all of their treasures off to one side. Dwemer pottery, arms and ore. To the north, a collapsed ceiling had revealed part of a once hidden Dwemer structure. The door long since ruined. We wouldn't be going that way. Tunnels on the west brought us to living quarters. Every book and paper was suspect. Shipping logs proved the illegality of the situation, setting me a bit more at ease. The scent of fresh food, another welcoming thought. The kitchen was well stocked, an abundance of sweets and breads, wines and mead. Snake helped himself to a bottle, putting a quick smile across my face despite the events of the last hour. To the east, sunlight. A deep shaft, water at it's feet. Above, a clear opening and open sky. Colder still. This water should be frozen or near freezing. Interesting enough, but still no sign of any journal. At the bottom, past the pool, another Dwemer structure. The door opened easily, well used.

"Flooded", growled Snake, dipping the tip of his boot into the muddied water. We stood there, knee deep, waist deep for me, watching the water. Both contemplating how to proceed. He spoke first. Offering to cross the water alone to see if the passage turned upwards just out of view He knew I couldn't agree to that. Off we trudged. The thought of the water ruining the things in my pack was a constant one. As were thoughts of missteps, or ambush at the next turn. Thankfully, as we crept forward, the shock of it died down. The whirring machinery grew louder as we neared the turn. A luckier day than most, the floor arched up just out to the right. We dragged ourselves out of the muck and collapsed for some time. Arms racing to hold each other and find some warmth. And then the sound. A footstep. The whirring stopped. Across the hall, a glowing bead peeked from behind a pillar then slowly drifted out of sight. Another footstep and the whirring resumed. A Dwemer machine hobbled out of the shadows, clumsily lugging back and forth, seemingly oblivious to our presence. Snake lifted his sword as if to charge it. I held aloft a hand, motioning him to wait. The once dreaded ambush would be ours. I crept up behind the closest pillar then galloped forward, the clinking of my armor finally jolting our enemy to attention as I cleared the final steps. Snilla-Nilyn drove true, piercing a side plate and striking one of it's more important parts, whatever those might be. What luck. It stumbled then lie silent, a pile of scrap on the floor. "See?", I squeaked. Trying my hardest not to grin at my success. "We should take a break as soon as things get quiet". He lifted an eyebrow, well aware of my intent. The hall continued upwards, coming to another shaft. A sturdy metal bridge crossed the gorge. At the other end, another of the machines whirred loudly.  There would be no ambush here.

Past me, Snake flew. My wide eyes captured it all. Two seconds became two minutes to me. Hilde went high, a spark across the ceiling as she made the tiniest of an impact, a carved line in her path, brief, but a permanent way. He grunted then drove down. A thump, a cloud of black smoke. Gears drove to a halt and what was left of the machine slumped at the base of the wall. His cape fluttered then fell across his back. Silence. He stayed low, as if for show, then rose and turned to me. A wide smile. He let Hilde drop and spread arms to take me. As if he had a choice. Our break was had. Sorely needed by all parties concerned. After we had settled, finished, exhausted. I wondered, had machines in further halls heard our break. What would they have thought. Could they even think? In the moments after our moments, my mind ofttimes did wander in weird ways. Stupid things that could only be thought up in such, the most serene of times. What did they think of the first thud and following thumps, our armor being stripped and tossed aside. Just the clang of metal on metal then shuffling. Flesh and leather and cloth bristling and rubbing. Those and our labored breaths would not carry as far as the metal. Perhaps they thought us one and the same as them in those moments. Who can say.

More of them blocked our path upwards. Past that, the halls continued to wind in their ways. Hours passed. The second morning became the second evening. The stale air grew more comfortable as we ascended, until it felt as though we were outside. And in a way, we were. This chamber, the final one from the looks of things, had nearly completely collapsed. The ceiling a massive gaping maw, a frigid clouded sky beaming down. Another work area. Tents and crates lined the walls. Our search quickly came to an end. One of the first tents we passed by had an occupant. Little left but bones at this point, he still sat atop his bedroll. Rummaging through his knapsack revealed a journal. The only one we had found thus far. Snake took the journal into his pack then joined me at the man's side for a moment before heading back to the hall. Hours in silence again. Broken only by the occasional glint in the distance or quickly dealt-with machine. Passing through the room from the previous night was comforting. A comfort that stayed with me for the rest of the trip. The waist high water, though I knew it was colder this time, was far less of a hassle. My mind at ease, a good night, the job seemingly finished, by tomorrow we would be back in bed, back at the cook pot, perhaps back in front of the fireplace. The kids at our feet, atop our shoulders, cuddled up at our sides. At peace. As peaceful as a fresh fallen snow. The first snow of a winter? It was due. Overdue, really. "Do you think it will snow soon?" I questioned Snake as he flipped through the journal. At once he gently shut it and tucked it away for safekeeping. The last thing we needed was to drop it in some muck once we get back to the sewer. Safe and away, he took my hand and we pushed through the door, out into the wide, now-white world. "Who can s-"