Legendary Loves Volume 2

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Vinge has not yet woken when I rise for the day. Daylight has broken and everything outside, including my windows, is covered in a glistening frost. I put more wood on the fire, ladle soup into a bowl, and swallow it before I get cleaned and dressed for the cold weather.

I leave bowls and spoons on the table for Vinge, and more alvea sprigs should he need them. Then I pick up my bow, my quiver, and my pack, step out of my cabin, and start the trek to the Springs.

My breath clouds in front of me and the chill prickles my skin wherever it’s exposed. I walk at a brisk pace, unwilling to leave Vinge alone for too long, but determined to keep yesterday’s promise to the Maidens. If not for me, then for Vinge.

I take the almost-hidden path leading to the clearing that’s always overflowing with rabbits, where I could catch my offerings to the Maidens with my bare hands, wearing a blindfold if necessary.

A short time—and enough well-aimed arrows later to provide the Maidens with their offer and myself with food—I resume the trek. My entire focus is on getting there as quickly as possible so I can return home to my guest and hopefully have some questions answered.

That is if he’s still there when I get back. If he’s well enough, maybe he’s chosen to leave while I’m away. If all he needed was a place to rest and recuperate, he could not be blamed for wanting to resume his travels and return to his home and kin, wherever that may be.

Thoughts of Vinge keep me occupied the entire way to the Springs, and even as I kneel in front of the altar—head bowed, and hands held out in surrender—my mind is not on the Maidens as it should be in this solemn moment.

Instead, as I lay down my gift of three fat rabbits, one for each Northern Maiden, among the many other offerings bestowed upon them, I think about Vinge. How the gold flecks shimmered in his eyes. The strength and grace of his long fingers holding onto my sleeve, and the dreamy lilt in his voice. Maybe that last part had been the fever, but I don’t believe so.

But most of all, I think about the way I felt around him. The flicker of recognition in my heart, as though we knew each other even though we don’t. The way we seemed to exist in the same space, as though we were two halves of a whole, finally reunited. How his gaze pulled me in, fascinating me.

I’m distracted when I mumble the words of gratitude and devotion—”Maidens of the North, accept my modest gift and eternal devotion, and please keep this humble servant in your hearts”—instilled in me from a young age. As soon as the last word is out of my mouth, I rise and turn to leave. My father would have been most displeased had he seen me jump to my feet and remove myself from the clearing with such haste.

No running by the Springs. Show some respect, boy.

As soon as I’m at an appropriate distance from the clearing, I start running.