woods, the trees dense. So much so , they led their mounts by the reigns, walking ahead of them.
Kip trotted along in front of Crowstone, nose working at the frozen air.
(no scent)
"I fear not, my friend," Crow said. "I doubt you'll pick up anything in this. Nothing sticks in the cold."
(true)
Kip glanced behind at Rowan.
(he's going slow . . . looks like he's in a lot of pain)
"I know, but we don't have a choice."
(we could've waited a bit)
Crowstone laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure you'd like that Kip. A few more weeks in front of the fire. I know you too well."
The bearcat trudged on.
(i'm just saying)
"And don't I know it. You'd hibernate all winter if you were able."
(can't argue with you there . . . when can I ride on the horse anyway?)
"When I can , and not a minute sooner."
( get your own eggs next time)
"I just might. I can still climb," Crowstone lied.
(sure)
* * *
Starkgard could never be considered to be a featureless country. The woods gave way to hills and valleys. All of it covered in snow. More woodland and forest cut in from left and right, the occasional stretches of farmlands between.
A ttempts at roads broke through the countryside, only to dissolve altogether when they met the woods. And more often than not they wouldn't pick back up on the other side. Rivers wide and deep cut their way from the Great Mountains and even in the winter they wouldn't freeze over completely – far too powerful for that.
The lakes we re another matter. Those fishing villages that grew at their banks over generations came to accept the periods when the lakes are solid ice. At times there could be little to do but wait for them to thaw back out, and in Starkgard, that can take a while.
In the few major cities, life wa s much different. A different world. But across the majority of the North the living was hard. Cold right to the heart.
Men and wom en are thrust into that cold, and made, and shaped by it. Most fail. But a few make it through the other side, their bodies, minds and spirits tempered by the extreme temperature. Wits sharpened on the ice.
Where once a tyrant king ruled the land, a tyrant politician took his place. And despite several years of civil war, he managed to maintain his iron grip on Starkgard and its denizens. He squeezed the kingdom. His lords challenged the barons and dukes for their land, their power. Slowly, piece by piece, Wagstaff gained control over the entire land. And what is a politician anyway but another tyrant?
* * *
They bought thick furs from a passing trader, and though the furs were toasty warm, they did little to alleviate the biting wind at the travellers faces. Kip didn't seem to mind the cold, walking alongside Crow's horse with his nose to the ground.
Rowan found the wind made his whole face hurt. "I can't wait to get out of this."
"Strong storms off the mountains," Crowstone said. "Blowing icy breath from the peaks. It'll probably get easier once we come around, start facing west."
"West? I'm headed North," Rowan said.
"Greyside, you said."
"Yeah. North of here."
"You head North as far as Rithford, then turn westward from the little stream," Crowstone said with a smirk. "Trust me. I've travelled all over these parts."
"Good. Then we shouldn't get lost," Rowan said and continued to urge his horse on. "Is there anything you don't know?" he asked over his shoulder.
"The way to make an edible omelette still eludes me, I'm afraid," Crow said. "But not through lack of trying."
* * *
A thick blanket of white covered the land, ensuring that every mile travelled was virtually indistinguishable from the next. The bare trees stood out in stark relief, the few evergreens among them like oases of colour amongst the monochrome landscape. They crossed a small, shallow river almost frozen entirely to the middle. The horses hooves smashed through the icy crust at its edges.
"How did you come to be a part of this Order?" Rowan asked Crowstone, seemingly out of the
Kip trotted along in front of Crowstone, nose working at the frozen air.
(no scent)
"I fear not, my friend," Crow said. "I doubt you'll pick up anything in this. Nothing sticks in the cold."
(true)
Kip glanced behind at Rowan.
(he's going slow . . . looks like he's in a lot of pain)
"I know, but we don't have a choice."
(we could've waited a bit)
Crowstone laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure you'd like that Kip. A few more weeks in front of the fire. I know you too well."
The bearcat trudged on.
(i'm just saying)
"And don't I know it. You'd hibernate all winter if you were able."
(can't argue with you there . . . when can I ride on the horse anyway?)
"When I can , and not a minute sooner."
( get your own eggs next time)
"I just might. I can still climb," Crowstone lied.
(sure)
* * *
Starkgard could never be considered to be a featureless country. The woods gave way to hills and valleys. All of it covered in snow. More woodland and forest cut in from left and right, the occasional stretches of farmlands between.
A ttempts at roads broke through the countryside, only to dissolve altogether when they met the woods. And more often than not they wouldn't pick back up on the other side. Rivers wide and deep cut their way from the Great Mountains and even in the winter they wouldn't freeze over completely – far too powerful for that.
The lakes we re another matter. Those fishing villages that grew at their banks over generations came to accept the periods when the lakes are solid ice. At times there could be little to do but wait for them to thaw back out, and in Starkgard, that can take a while.
In the few major cities, life wa s much different. A different world. But across the majority of the North the living was hard. Cold right to the heart.
Men and wom en are thrust into that cold, and made, and shaped by it. Most fail. But a few make it through the other side, their bodies, minds and spirits tempered by the extreme temperature. Wits sharpened on the ice.
Where once a tyrant king ruled the land, a tyrant politician took his place. And despite several years of civil war, he managed to maintain his iron grip on Starkgard and its denizens. He squeezed the kingdom. His lords challenged the barons and dukes for their land, their power. Slowly, piece by piece, Wagstaff gained control over the entire land. And what is a politician anyway but another tyrant?
* * *
They bought thick furs from a passing trader, and though the furs were toasty warm, they did little to alleviate the biting wind at the travellers faces. Kip didn't seem to mind the cold, walking alongside Crow's horse with his nose to the ground.
Rowan found the wind made his whole face hurt. "I can't wait to get out of this."
"Strong storms off the mountains," Crowstone said. "Blowing icy breath from the peaks. It'll probably get easier once we come around, start facing west."
"West? I'm headed North," Rowan said.
"Greyside, you said."
"Yeah. North of here."
"You head North as far as Rithford, then turn westward from the little stream," Crowstone said with a smirk. "Trust me. I've travelled all over these parts."
"Good. Then we shouldn't get lost," Rowan said and continued to urge his horse on. "Is there anything you don't know?" he asked over his shoulder.
"The way to make an edible omelette still eludes me, I'm afraid," Crow said. "But not through lack of trying."
* * *
A thick blanket of white covered the land, ensuring that every mile travelled was virtually indistinguishable from the next. The bare trees stood out in stark relief, the few evergreens among them like oases of colour amongst the monochrome landscape. They crossed a small, shallow river almost frozen entirely to the middle. The horses hooves smashed through the icy crust at its edges.
"How did you come to be a part of this Order?" Rowan asked Crowstone, seemingly out of the
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