Winterglows
If there was anything to be said about the winter season, Bret would have to say that it was a time of contradictions. Unlike the vitality of spring, the fury of summer or even the tranquility of autumn, there really wasn’t a single word in the known languages that could be used to accurately describe it – or at least in the Rhino-horned rook’s opinion, there wasn’t.
Sparing some thought to it, he supposed that ‘duality’ came very close, but somehow that too fell flat of the mark that Bret tried to ascertain – after all, how could a single word fully encompass both the beauty and brutality the season represented, or the way it shifted from one extreme to the next within such a short span of time. Even now, as Bret stood among the snow-speckled and skeletal remains of what had once been a grand and lush forest, the ringed marked rook found his attention taken by the concept of it.
The biting chill of the evening had long become a familiar and expected presence over the last few weeks since winter’s arrival, making it easier for Bret to block it out of his mind as his gaze inspected a set of pristine icicles that hung precariously off their perch on a bare snow-covered tree’s branch, as glossy as broken shards of glass in the golden light of dusk and sporting edges just as dagger sharp. Elfin type ears flicked in the slightest of irritation against the flurry of a sudden zephyr, the frigid touch of the gale all but ignored in favor for turquoise eyes to follow a single crystalline droplet of melted ice that trailed along that same jagged, precarious edge.
Against the near see-through ice, the clear liquid had been turned a honeyed gold in the decaying glow of the sun on the western horizon, a single sparkle glinting off its smooth surface just as gravity’s influence finally took hold, tugging it free of the icicle’s tip and sending it careening into the frozen soil below with a soft ‘pip’. Bret stared at the area it had vanished into a moment longer, watching as the small wet spot slowly dried into nothing before raising his eyes up once again to let his attentions take in the rest of the area.
Looking at the forest that he called his homeland now, it was still a little awe-inspiring to think that this place had been brimming with life only a few weeks prior. Where once a myriad of emerald and vermilion shades had covered the forest from floor to canopy and cicada symphonies had floated on the air now only the corpses of grayed trees and a blanket of brittle brown grass stood among the remains of the previous night’s snowfall and the hollow whispers of the frozen northern gales, a testament to the power of winter.
Stepping quietly across the hardened soil, the amber rook closed the distance between himself and a single tree, reaching out with one of his paws to test the texture of the bark beneath his palm as his gaze traveled upwards to the canopy, where a series of spindling branches could be seen reaching towards the heavens. Almost as though they were beseeching the sun’s radiance to return to them…
A sudden shock of cold against his cheek broke the rook’s train of thought before it could continue, drawing a sudden gasping cry from his maw as his free paw raised up to cover the affected area. The dual sensation of wet and icy and gritty met his palm the moment they came into contact with the straight substance, and as he pulled his paw away he was met with the sight of something white and watery and dirty – snow, he realized after a moment as he tested the substance between two clawed digits, watching as it continued to melt beneath the heat of his touch.
Blinking, he realized he’d just been accosted with some of the fading snow off the ground... well, Becky had lasted a bit longer than he’d thought she would, he mused with a wiry smirk. Honestly, Bret would dare say three hours without doing something was a new personal record for her too.
The grumbling warble of chastisement that slipped passed his fangs to mingle with the spout of chirping laughter off to his left had no heat nor weight to it, and as he turned his attention towards his assailant the expression on his features was best described as being caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. Golden eyes filled with mischief and laughter met the amber rook’s turquoise gaze without fear of retribution as still damp paws raised up in a vain attempt to muffle the snickers that kept escaping through the smiling muzzle, wispy whiskers swaying back and forth with the tremors of movement; despite the amusement being at his expense, Bret found that he really couldn’t summon any trace of genuine embarrassment or bashfulness, especially when his dear sister looked so carefree.
Taking a few moments wipe the rest of the melted snow off his face, the ringed marked rook warbled softly, a gentle reminder to the trickster of a dove to keep close to him. Despite both of them being of the crepuscular biorhythm, neither of them had particularly good night vision, and the last thing he needed was for Becky to wander off and become lost in this winter wasteland while they were searching this forest – especially with the temperature dropping and nightfall so close. A lighthearted grumble met his command, one that he could just hear Becky rolling her eyes with, but nevertheless as he pushed off of the tree the Kirin-horned dove appeared at his side to wipe her still damp paws on his flank; the frigid feel of which had him batting them away in surprise.
Amidst his sister’s snickers, the amber rook spared a glance up towards the heavens to check on the time, finding comfort in the golden glow of the evening that still flooded over the winter landscape, but his gaze still noted that the kaleidoscope of pinks, purples and reds that were beginning to stain the sky and clouds – the first sign of twilight’s impeding arrival. A low grumbling growl slithered its way out from between pursed lips as his large ears flicked down towards his head, turquoise eyes narrowing with the realization.
Already both brother and sister had been out here for several hours, and now with only about an hour left of daylight left before night descended upon the land they still hadn’t been able to locate neither scent nor telltale glow of a Dancing Bell flower vine, the reason they were out here in the first place and not back at the warmth of Dythalous’ home.
The arrival of winter had come much earlier than expected this year, and while some such as Don and Maya welcomed its sudden appearance with joy, the fact remained that the loaf had not had the time they usually had to prepare – meaning, among other things, that their herbal supplies were already an all time low.
To make matters worse, in the last week Alphonse – the most physically fragile of their small loaf – had begun to exhibit symptoms of what was bound to be a severe cold, and while it normally wasn’t a big deal for winter to bring in minor illnesses and whatnot for the crippled and deaf rook it could easily take a turn for the worst if they didn’t keep on top of it. “We’re out of Angelberry Leaves and Bluetwists already Bret, and neither of those grow anywhere around here after the frosts,” Dythalous had sighed as he held the box that contained their stock in his hands, staring down worriedly into the empty spaces left behind in lieu of the stated herbs, an action that Bret had mirrored with tightness constricting his chest.
Without a supply of Angelberry Leaves or Bluetwists, all that they'd had left to offer the ailing rook were either a Mippa’s Berry or Angelberry, two valuable herbs that would cure Alphonse easily and fully, but were hard to come by even in the height of summer. The small handful they’d managed to acquire before winter’s spell descended were needed encase major injuries or sicknesses struck before the season was over, but they couldn’t just wait on Alphonse’s ailment to get that bad. “I’ll give this to Alphonse and nip this in the bud before it becomes a major problem,” Dythalous decided after a moment as he’d plucked out a single Angelberry from the herbal supplies. “But we need more medicinal plants if we’re going to weather this season safely. We’ll have to send out some gathering parties the first chance we get,” unfortunately for the loaf and handler, that was turning out to be much easier said than put into practice.
In the cold seasons, the only medicinal herb that grew around these parts was the elusive Dancing Bell, a beautiful glowing parasitic flower that grew on fragile curling vines around the trunks and branches of trees. Though not as potent a medicine as Angelberries or Mippa’s Berries, they were a staple in many medicine cabinets and first aids kits across the nearby villages – especially during winter’s harsh grip. As fragile as the flowers usually were, their parasitic nature made it possible for them to survive the extreme climate change, albeit in smaller numbers than usual. Still, even just a handful of the delicate blossoms would help to see them through the season… if they could just locate them.
A slight nudge on his shoulder reminded the amber rook of his sister’s presence, his turquoise gaze snapping away from the heavens to look down at her curious face just before a sudden gale of icy wind blazed through the woodland. Instinctively, Bret wrapped his arms and tail around his sister’s form as both siblings braced against the icy cold ripping through their furry coats, the whiskered dove snuggling into her brother’s warmth and protection as the waited it out. Only when the zephyr had died out did Bret release Becky, the hazel dove lowering her head to her paws to rub her large elfin ears between her paws in an attempt to warm them up with annoyed grumbles. For his part, Bret gave his own head a hardy shake, valiantly trying to ignore the shiver that was racing down his spine. They couldn’t stay out here much longer.
Once both Kukuri had recovered, they set off once again, clawed feet moving in tandem as they wove through the tree lines. Bret kept his gaze focused on high, searching the tangling branches for any sign of a soft glow against the darkening sky whereas Becky searched low, using her sensitive whiskers to feel in small crevices and hollows for hidden vines. For several long, grueling and cold minutes they continued this, moving from tree to tree after each careful search, until after the tenth or so tree Bret let out an exasperated sigh as his shoulders drooped.
Vaguely, he wondered if the other parties were having any better luck; with Alphonse’s cold no longer an issue, Dythalous had left the fragile rook in Maya’s capable paws and set off with one of the newer members to their loaf, a massive raven Prairie named Alvin, to search the areas near the riverbanks and streams. Don had also volunteered, heading off with Dalia to search the rocky cliffs; with any luck, either of those groups had come across the flowers, because it was looking more and more like the dun marked siblings would be coming home empty handed.
So caught up in his musings was Bret, that he didn’t noticed the moment his sister’s eyes turned upward and widened, nor did he notice when the hazel dove had begun her ascend up one of the skeletal oaks that surrounded them, so when he turned back to warble the suggestion of returning home and didn’t find her standing where he’d last left her the dun marked rook did the only thing the situation called for… he panicked.
Wide turquoise eyes blinked rapidly, elfin ears falling backwards as an icy chill that had nothing to do with the weather swept over him, his mind going numb with the shock. Piercing cries fell from his mouth and echoed through the woods without answer as he began to search the area for a flash of hazel, becoming more and more frantic as the seconds slowly ticked by; oh Life and Death, where did Becky go?! He’d just taken his eyes off of her for a second!
Just as he was prepared to tear the forest apart however, a splash of snow from above fell onto his Rhino-horned face, shocking him out of his hysteria just long enough for him to not fully comprehend the excited squeal coming from above, nor the ever growing shadow that descended upon him until he was forced to the ground by a heavy weight.
The surprised roar and heavy ‘thud!’ of two bodies hitting the ground pierced the empty air, and as Bret managed to shake off the stars swirling before his gaze he jerked his head over his shoulder to find Becky sitting happily on top of his back, golden eyes alight and muzzle smiling through a bushel of softly glowing Dancing Bell vines. When they got back to the house, he would no doubt be giving his sister a stern talking to for scaring him like that, but until then he would just bask in the relief he felt racing through his blood.
He’d not lost his sister, and they’d have herbs for the winter after all.