Lightning Round!

[jakia]

Brrr! I don't know about you, but it's cold where I'm at.  They're even threating snow in some parts of the state.

Either way, tonight's challenge is Winter.  Take fifteen minutes and write/draw something with the prompt Winter, and have fun!

Comments

[jade_sabre_301]

not my best but here you go:

It was no surprise the young witch had such a taste for the primal spells of winter. She came from the Korcari Wilds, after all, and the little time Wynne had spent on its edge was enough for her to know that the cold not only seeped into one's bones but set up camp and stayed there. Returning to the Tower after Ostagar hadn't helped; the cool stone walls kept the structure at an even temperature, and no fire had been enough to burn away the chill of watching an entire army fall to the brute strength of monsters. And then after Uldred's sacrilege the only fire had come from rage demons trying to scare her students into surrender, and then she'd found herself once again in the open air following in Amell's footsteps, of all the wonders.

The girl had always had a fondness for healing; Wynne had trained her in the early spells, and it was clear that her powers had only grown since her recruitment into the Grey Wardens. Still, she was a child in many ways, from her trust of those she met to her doe-eyed affection for her fellow Warden. Wynne watched her carefully, ready to offer advice at a moment's notice; in the meantime, she wrapped herself in blankets and comforted herself with the warmth of the spirit residing within her.

One night, when they were deep in the Frostback Mountains looking for the hidden signs to the village of Haven, Wynne awoke to an unexpected blast of cold in her tent. She sat up, blinking, thinking to tell the elf that this time he really had gone too far--and then her eyes recognized the whispy mage-light that always floated about Amell's head. The girl was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, shivering in the corner near the tent's flap.

"I don't mean to bother you," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's no trouble at all," Wynne said, taking in the snow on her shoulders and clinging to her hair. "Did the dog knock you into the snow again?"

"No," she said, "I rolled out of my bedroll."

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were fixed on the floor and Wynne said, "My dear--"

In a moment Amell had thrown herself across the small space of the tent and curled up in Wynne's lap, sobbing about being cold, the Tower was never this cold but out here it did nothing but rain and snow and she was wet and cold and couldn't sleep for fear--"D-d-darkspawn," she chattered, as Wynne recovered from the surprise and put her arms around her, stroking her damp hair, "they keep talking and then it's demons and there's blood everywhere and there's there's no one, Jowan's gone and everyone's dead and I--I--"

"Sh," Wynne said, tightening her arms around the girl, remembering the first time she had left the comfort and safety of the apprentices' dormitories for the empty spaces of the world beyond. "Sh, little one. I'm here. Try to rest."

Impossibly, the spirit within her seemed to feel the girl's pain; in a moment, they were wrapped in a feeling of comfort and light, safe and secure, and for a little while, at least, they were warm.