Frost & Shadow

Chapter Four

Days drifted past, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy weight the merchant’s words had left in my chest. A shiver ran down my spine, cold fingers snaking through my stomach and twisting it into tight knots at the thought of another world out there—somewhere beyond the frost, somewhere warm and sunlit, where green foods grew in abundance and snow never buried the earth for months. My stomach grumbled against the tight knot of anxiety, reminding me of empty cupboards and the thin stew waiting for tomorrow.

Maybe…maybe I could find it. If the deer had come from that place, maybe I could find it, too. Maybe there were other animals, more food waiting beyond these endless frozen forests. The thought pressed against my chest, heavy and sharp, and I could feel the tightness in my ribs, the restless ache in my muscles from days of chopping, stacking, and hauling. My hands itched with soreness, the raw skin burning faintly as I flexed each finger, aware of every tendon stretched tight with labor.

Cole and I had spent the last two days stacking firewood, muscles quivering with fatigue, hands raw and reddened by frost and work. The chill clung to my skin beneath wool and leather, but sweat ran in rivulets beneath, freezing against my neck and hair as soon as it hit the air. Now, we sat by the fire, trying to coax warmth into our bones, the hiss of fat against the iron pan filling the small room with a rhythm I clung to. The smell of sizzling meat mixed with the acrid tang of smoke drifting from the stove outside, biting at my nose and throat.

I worked my fingers over calloused palms, peeling out tiny splinters, nails digging into the rough skin until a sharp sting made me flinch. The fire’s warmth kissed my face, but icy drafts pressed against my shoulders, goosebumps rising along my arms. Every small movement reminded me of the frost that clung to our walls and floor, the chill creeping even into our sleep. Cole tended the pan with careful precision, flipping the meat with nimble fingers, the sizzling rising and falling like a heartbeat in the quiet.

“Mother?” I asked softly, turning my head toward her as she knelt by the bucket, scrubbing worn clothes. The cold water hissed faintly over the fabric, splashing droplets onto the floor and my own bare ankles.

“Yes, Laine?” Her voice was calm, but there was a taut edge beneath it, like a wire pulled tight.

“The merchant…he reminded me of a story the other day,” I said, voice tentative, almost swallowed by the fire’s crackle. I bit my cheek, feeling the sting of frost and dryness there, circling the words for days in my mind. Afraid they’d sound foolish—or worse, make me seem mad.

“Oh? What was it about?” Her eyes flicked up for a moment, curiosity brushing her face before vanishing like smoke.

“Something called the Fae… and what they did to humans,” I said carefully, studying her closely. Her shoulders stiffened immediately, hands freezing mid-scrub, the water rippling in the bucket with the sudden halt.

“He told you what?” Her voice snapped, sharp and sudden, a knife cutting through the room. Her eyes were narrow, dangerous, like they could slice through my thoughts.

“He reminded me of the old tale, where they used to steal humans from their beds and force them to serve in some distant world, that bedtime story dad used to tell us when Cole and I were little.” I said softly, my own breath fogging faintly in the cold air. I could feel the quickening of my pulse in my throat, the tightening in my chest, the small tremble of my hands.

“Bullcrap,” she said, stiffly turning back to the bucket with controlled motions. Cold water splashed, droplets stinging her sleeves and my own hands. I didn’t press further—the air between us thick with unspoken knowledge, heavier than the frost pressing against the walls.

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Later that night, Cole settled onto his bed across the room. I watched him tug clean socks over chilled feet, the rough fabric scratching against skin already sore from frost and labor. He slid beneath the covers with a soft sigh, the blankets crinkling under him, the smell of smoke and dry wool drifting faintly around him.

“Do you really believe the fairtytales?” he asked quietly, voice low, shadows twisting across the walls in the flickering light.

“I…don’t know,” I admitted, my words nearly lost in the quiet. My chest tightened, and I felt the cold bite at my lungs as I exhaled. “The way Mom reacted…she knows something, I’m sure. If there’s warmth out there, somewhere with food… I’ll find it, Cole.” I blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. Only the faint glow of embers from the fireplace outside our bedroom door painted soft orange shadows across the rough wooden walls, flickering over my tense muscles.

“What if it’s all fairytales? Like Mom said?” he murmured, barely louder than the wind scraping across frost-laden branches outside.

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was foolish to believe it.

“The deer came from somewhere, Cole. That’s all I know,” I said, pulling the threadbare blankets closer around my small, tight body. I felt every shiver, every prickling hair on my arms, every ache in my spine and shoulders from days spent fighting the cold.

The room fell into fragile stillness. Outside, the wind howled through skeletal branches, carrying the eerie cry of a distant animal. The faint glow of embers dimmed, leaving the room shadowed and cold, every corner steeped in frost-scented air. The frozen world beyond our walls seemed impossibly vast, stretching beyond anything I could reach—full of life that had survived the frost, yet tantalizingly out of reach.

I kept my green eyes fixed on the shadows, imagining what might be waiting just beyond the horizon. The smell of pine drifted in through the cracked window, sharp, cold, carrying the frost of the fields with it. My stomach tightened with hunger again, a dull ache that mixed with the fire in my chest—the spark of determination that refused to be snuffed out. Somewhere out there, warmth and food waited, and I would find it. I would survive.

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I spend days checking traps, cleaning and stretching the fur and hide of a small fox cole managed last week while I helped mother in the village, sewing up Katriana's couch cushions. Katriana is an older lady, but still younger than my mother, maybe around 40. She's gorgeous, though the cold has eaten away at her blonde hair, making it look quite dull compared to the shimmering gold it used to be.

She lives on the northern edge of the village, in a nice, well kept house. Her husband's wealth has kept her fed and warm this past year, even after he passed. Though she doesn't share often, she still offers work as much as she possibly can for any villagers needing coin. Her daughter Ava is only 16, but she used to be one of Cole's closest friends when they still attended lessons. Her daughter spends her days keeping stock with some of the lazier crowd of the village, taking up space in her mother's house. I think she invited Cole once months ago, but he refused to let me go off into the woods alone and declined her offer.

Im thankful for that, but at the same time I wish he would've accepted. Maybe he would've had just a little bit longer to be a lazy, careless kid.

Still, through working with my mother for a few days, and selling deer jerky in the square, the fairytale never left my mind, always there, always probing in the back of my thoughts. I couldn't shake the feeling that if they just so happened to be real, that they could change everything as we now know it. And on top of that, I can't shake the feeling that my soul aches with, pulling me to explore those southern woods.