Chapter 23 - OtyliaWhy did I ever curse the warmth?
WE’D MADE CAMP ON TOP OF A HILL somewhere in the plains. Here, the sky seemed larger than possible in the forest. Stars painted the night alongside the godless moon—each a person’s soul yet to die. When they did, the star would fall with their soul as they traveled to Nawia and Weles.
Without Dadźbóg’s heat, the cold had worked its way through my thin wool cloak as I wrapped myself tight within it upon my bedroll. Storm clouds were approaching. My dress had dried since our encounter with the rusałka, but the cloak would be useless if I was soaked to the bone. Ara lay strides away, too far to provide warmth. Of course, she kept her distance the one time I wouldn’t have complained about her invading my personal space.
I sighed and stared
