Willowind by GJ Woodrum

Heat Rating: Zero Fire

Content Warning: None

Willowind is heir to a throne in a war-torn land. But can she stop the war?

She stared out over the mist shrouded valley, eyes haunted by memories' ghosts. In her heart she could still feel the echoes of laughter, the dim trickles of infrequent rage. Gone with the past. Gone with youth.

Sighing, she turned away from the old times, faced the new ones.

Bright blue and shining young, his eyes gazed steadily at her. Morning sunlight sparkled in his wheat-gold hair. A ready smile played on his pale lips. "You're awake early."

"Yes."

"Nightmare?"

"No." She sat down, lifted the pot of tea out of the embers of the fire, poured cups for them both.

He watched her for a moment, the silence like winter clouds between them. "You can't mourn them forever."

She looked up at him. Eyes still focused on the far distance of long ago. "Can't I?"

Frowning, he nodded, gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yes, I suppose you can." He sipped the tea, made a face at the bitterness that stung his mouth. "Yagh. This must have sat all night on the fire."

A tiny glimmer of amusement caressed her features like a lover long absent. "It did." She sipped at her own tea, flinched at the strength of the brew, swallowed.

"You'll poison us both with this," he remarked, dumping the dark liquid out of both cup and pot. "I'll start some fresh and after we eat something we can be on our way again." For good measure he took the cup gently from her and poured it out as well.

She sat quietly, observing him as he went about the business of preparing their morning meal. Another flicker of a smile graced her lips while he spoke in a soft, childish sing-song to their trio of horses, mimicked the morning birdsong with deft whistling; cursed when a patter of dewdrops fell chillingly on his back from the trees.

I'd be lost without him, she mused, pouring a cup of tea from the pot he had made. It looked weak to her. Pale amber. The water was barely warm. No matter, she drank it down and poured another; sat with the cup forgotten in her hand, thoughts of the past ruling her present.

"There," he said, putting a small wooden plate down in her lap. Bread from the last town they had passed through, cheese and some dried fruit made up their morning meal. "I could heat water and make some porridge like we had yesterday, if you want me to." He noticed the way she was staring into nothingness and a sober expression stole the joy from his features.