Frost & Shadow

Chapter Three

The sun pushed through the snow-laden clouds as Cole pulled the sleigh beside me, stubborn as always, refusing to let me take a turn. Every muscle in my body ached, tendons pulled tight with fatigue, but I kept moving. I couldn’t rest, not while my family trudged toward the village center. The air bit at my cheeks and stung my lungs, sharp with pine and frozen earth.

Mother and Father walked ahead, hand in hand. Mother glanced back often, her worry plain, while Father pressed forward, pretending the sled’s weight didn’t exist, though it dragged heavy with wrapped meat and the deer pelt. The wind worried at their cloaks and shook snow from the trees, whispering across the fields.

We hadn’t spoken of it—where the deer had come from, why it had appeared at all. If there was one, there had to be more. Maybe hidden in caverns or high in the mountains. But what had it eaten? How had it lived when the earth had been dead for months? The questions gnawed at me until Cole cut me off.

“Stop questioning it,” he said, his breath a white cloud.

“I’m not,” I whispered, though my voice betrayed me. “I just… wonder.”

“Be grateful you found it when you did. I know I am.” His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead.

The walk into town was slow, each step marked by the crunch of boots on ice. Villagers turned at the sight of us. Children craned their necks, noses red from the cold. Adults watched with something sharper—curiosity, hunger, suspicion.

At last, Mother and Father sat on our usual bench, and Cole stopped the sled before them. We’d agreed on our price: twenty-five coins for the pelt, no less, and two coins for each package of meat. Enough, we hoped, to last awhile. Maybe enough for me to try my luck again.

But the people hesitated. A few bought meat, most tried to haggle. My eyes drifted toward the fruit stall across the square. Strawberries. Bright red, gleaming in the pale sun. Their sweetness cut faintly through the air, cruel and tempting.

A man bargained hard with Father, begging for a single coin per package. I laid a hand on Father’s arm.

“One coin,” I said softly, so only he and the man could hear.

Relief broke across the man’s face as he pressed the coin into Father’s hand and hurried away. Father turned a sharp look on me, but Mother smiled faintly.

“Why?” Father asked. His voice carried more irritation than curiosity.

“Would you not ask the same from someone else,” I murmured, “if I hadn’t dragged that deer home last night?”

He scoffed, dismissing me. I shook my head and sat down, the snow shifting beneath my boots. The scents of firewood, smoke, and stew drifted through the square. I loved Father, but pride clung to him like frost. Once he had been important. Now, with his horses dead and his work gone, he fought for scraps and odd jobs. It was never enough.

My gaze caught on a stall lined with blades, bows, and quivers. The faint tang of oiled leather hung in the cold air. A bow gleamed on display, dark wood polished smooth.

Mother followed my gaze. Without a word, she slipped three coins into my hand, her fingers stiff with cold. “If it helps us eat, it’s worth it,” she whispered.

I crossed the square, snow crunching beneath my boots, the bow’s string humming faintly in the wind. My fingers brushed a blade, its polished edge reflecting my sharp green eyes back at me.

“How much?” I asked the merchant.

“That blade? Five coins.” He sat hunched on a creaking stool, older, with scruff on his chin and wear etched deep into his cheeks.

I moved along the table, studying the weapons.

“How much do you have, kid?” His voice was low, rasping.

“Three coins. And I’m not a kid.”

He smirked faintly. “Three, huh? I’ll give you the bow for two.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Done.” The coins clinked in his palm.

This bow would last much longer than mine, which is falling apart.

“A quiver with three arrows is another coin,” he added.

I weighed my last coin. Across the square, strawberries glistened, mocking me. I swallowed and handed him the coin. The quiver felt light against my back, but the bow sat solid in my grip.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“Use it well,” he said, watching me carefully. “You hunt much?”

“Doesn’t everyone these days?”

"Found anything good? Forest’s been bare.”

I lowered my voice. “A deer. Yesterday. First since the frost.”

His eyes sharpened. “A deer? Where?”

“It found my trap, south of town.” I said evenly. “Why? Interested?”

“South of town?”

I didn’t answer. His eagerness gave him away.

“I’ll trade you that blade for the pelt and a package of meat,” he said quickly.

I narrowed my eyes. “You said the blade was worth five coins. Meat, maybe. But not the pelt without proper coin.”

“Ten coins.”

“Twenty,” I countered.

He hesitated, then nodded.

“The southern forest isn’t hunted for a reason,” he said, voice low. “Wolves roam at night. But near the mountains… there’s an old story. You know the one, right?”

I nod, my eyes narrowing as I try to remember the story my father used to tell me when I was little.

“Stay away from those woods,” he warned.

I turned back to my family, the weight of his words pressing on me.

“He’s taking the pelt and a package of meat,” I said to Father, handing Cole the bow.

“How much?” Father demanded.

“Twenty coins and the blade.”

Father bristled, but I pressed on. I counted the coins carefully, cold metal biting at my fingers, then handed him the pouch.

“Don’t give me that look,” I said firmly. “No one else would’ve paid that much.”

Before he could argue, I sank down beside Mother, her quiet warmth a steady anchor against the frost-bitten wind.