Harper
That night the dream came without warning.
I was standing in snow.
Not the soft kind. The kind that's been down long enough to crust over, and the crust cracked under my weight with a sound like teeth on glass. Cold went up through my bare feet and found the marrow of my ankles.
No wind. No sky. Just white pulled tight across the world like a sheet over something that wasn't sleeping.
Two figures. Close enough to touch if my arms would move.
On my left, warmth. I felt it before I saw him. Pine and woodsmoke, the scent I knew down to the carbon, bleeding through the cold like heat through a cracked wall.
Vane. Dark coat, hair wet with melt. His hand was out, palm up. His eyes did the thing they always did, sharp, held back, waiting for me to choose.
On my right, a pull. Deep.
