The cold snow landed, and that blue rose bloomed. It stayed in bloom throughout the duration of winter, even with no insects to pollinate it. And then, as soon as winter was over, its petals would fall, soft and slowly to the ground.
For those men, that unlucky first squadron, their winter was over.
They hardly even felt the strike that did it. Gorm would not have wished that they did – he was not a cruel man, despite his barbarism.
There was a soft squelch in the snow, as one man saw his own hand land into what had once been a perfect white. Then there were drippings, like icy rain. He saw the links of his chainmail drop after it, slow and steady.
