I rubbed my eyes, taking a morning yawn as I glanced around my room. Today was going to be the start of a great adventure, assuming my dad wasn’t going to be a killjoy and insist that I don’t go. I shot out of bed, before reality smacked me in the face. Snow: a flurry of white covering my window with insidious ice.
“Oh come on,” I groaned out loud. My plan was for the snow to at least take a few days to arrive, as the safer and faster central trail to Mithil would be buried by then. The side trails required a mountain trek, something that I wasn’t looking forward to.
“Okay. String and twine, arrows and bags against rime. Nasty sticks of flame and…” I sang to myself, packing the items in precise order.
My father taught me, and his mother taught him the same tune, helping immortalize what
