Snowflakes and Frost
Title: Snowflakes and Frost
Description: The old ways are strongest in winter.
A/N: Day 9 of Advent Drabblender 2011.
Prompt: Snow Angels
“Do you know about the snow angels?”
He shakes his head, his green eyes wide as he clutches his mug of cocoa closer to the threadbare material over his chest.
“They are beautiful, as beautiful as the winter storms, and just as deadly. They are gowned in frost and snowflakes, and their breath will freeze the surface of the lake. Their knives are made of icicles and their stables from snowdrifts.
“They punish those who act dishonorably, and their justice is cold and brutal. Do not let them catch you in wrongdoing, little one.”
He shivers and nods emphatically, shaking his head so hard that his chin bumps against the rim of the mug.
His mother comes into the room then with an extra shawl for grandmother’s old bones. “Are you still telling him the old tales, Mother?” she asks, using the most respectful of the twelve terms for mother-in-law. “I loved hearing about them from Jacek.”
Of course he had only told her the charming stories, the nice stories. Otherwise she would never have come to this forgotten hamlet, deep within the woods.
The grandmother does not respond, gazing moodily into the leaping embers, and his mother beckons to him. “Time for bed, now. You’ll have to be up early to fight your way through the snow to school.”
That night, he dreams of doing battle with a woman with snow-white skin and blue hair, who easily overpowers him and takes him into her chilling embrace, which is both thrilling and fatal.
Years later, his grandmother has passed, and like the other villagers, he has forgotten many of the old ways. They do not touch his life, and their power is a shadow of what it used to be. He spends his time shirking work and flirting with all the pretty girls, wishing he had a grand and glorious destiny. Like working for the king or perhaps even being one himself.
But one day, he goes too far and wrongs the wrong woman. She is the prettiest girl in the village and the prickliest, a girl with raven-black hair and eyes the exact shade of the purple hearts of mountains. She swears he will be sorry, and the promise in her voice startles him, but he goes home, figuring he will let the first snow of the year cool her off. He will charm his way back into her good graces the next day.
He never makes it home that night and is found the next morning, frozen to death. Caught in the storm, they guess, even though he has lived here all his life and should have known better. His lips are blue from winter’s kiss, and in his hand lies a fold of snowflakes and frost, invisible against the fresh snowfall.
Description: The old ways are strongest in winter.
A/N: Day 9 of Advent Drabblender 2011.
Prompt: Snow Angels
“Do you know about the snow angels?”
He shakes his head, his green eyes wide as he clutches his mug of cocoa closer to the threadbare material over his chest.
“They are beautiful, as beautiful as the winter storms, and just as deadly. They are gowned in frost and snowflakes, and their breath will freeze the surface of the lake. Their knives are made of icicles and their stables from snowdrifts.
“They punish those who act dishonorably, and their justice is cold and brutal. Do not let them catch you in wrongdoing, little one.”
He shivers and nods emphatically, shaking his head so hard that his chin bumps against the rim of the mug.
His mother comes into the room then with an extra shawl for grandmother’s old bones. “Are you still telling him the old tales, Mother?” she asks, using the most respectful of the twelve terms for mother-in-law. “I loved hearing about them from Jacek.”
Of course he had only told her the charming stories, the nice stories. Otherwise she would never have come to this forgotten hamlet, deep within the woods.
The grandmother does not respond, gazing moodily into the leaping embers, and his mother beckons to him. “Time for bed, now. You’ll have to be up early to fight your way through the snow to school.”
That night, he dreams of doing battle with a woman with snow-white skin and blue hair, who easily overpowers him and takes him into her chilling embrace, which is both thrilling and fatal.
Years later, his grandmother has passed, and like the other villagers, he has forgotten many of the old ways. They do not touch his life, and their power is a shadow of what it used to be. He spends his time shirking work and flirting with all the pretty girls, wishing he had a grand and glorious destiny. Like working for the king or perhaps even being one himself.
But one day, he goes too far and wrongs the wrong woman. She is the prettiest girl in the village and the prickliest, a girl with raven-black hair and eyes the exact shade of the purple hearts of mountains. She swears he will be sorry, and the promise in her voice startles him, but he goes home, figuring he will let the first snow of the year cool her off. He will charm his way back into her good graces the next day.
He never makes it home that night and is found the next morning, frozen to death. Caught in the storm, they guess, even though he has lived here all his life and should have known better. His lips are blue from winter’s kiss, and in his hand lies a fold of snowflakes and frost, invisible against the fresh snowfall.