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In the northern reaches of the known world, where winter plucked the petals of life, there nestled the village of Winterhaven. It was a quant and quiet village nestled in open plains, snuggled comfortably with blankets of snow. With winds from northern mountains carrying diluted smells from forests and streams.
Light parted early winter clouds, waking both family and animals alike, as Cockrill's called out for farmers from their warm timber cottages. With thatched roofs baring overnight snowfall, fresh flames came back to life as the thin morning stews wafted through. Fresh paths were carved out from home to field, where fields were cleared and crops were rescued.
Though the paths and field had not always been this way, vast golden lands, vibrant green bushes and trees with both fair and sweet smells carried by northern winds. Tables loaded with fresh tastes, fragrant bread, and thick stews strained tables and chairs alike. Now fields can't breathe through snow, trees and bushes burrow deeper for less and winds smack and slice at the exposed skin, the tables and chairs now comfortably carry the weight or carry no longer.
A winter never seen before has spread from the north and weaved its way south, a most unnatural tale elders would say, making tales of winters that once lasted moons. A winter to take the old and torment the young. Villagers gather in cottages, basking in the warm fire, drinking hot water as they whisper and bicker. Tales and reasons are spun, anecdotes and tales for the kids are weaved and the old start to understand their new duty.
Cold air carried the chopping of wood and the soft crunch of hooves against snow-packed fields. Smoke curled from the blacksmith's forge, where muscle and hammer forged bronze tools and weapons. Children bundled in thick furs played games in the snow-laden streets, their laughter filling the streets and grounds around the village as they filled the empty fields.
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The god rays of morning crept through the frost-kissed window shutters, rustles of blankets and groans of the morning echoed off thick timber. In the common room, a sturdy oak table dominated the space, though scuffed and chipped. A meagre fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room.
The father, Torrhen, his face flaked and dry, with both thick beard and hair framing it, sat at the head of the table, his rightful place. His shoulders encompassed the chair frame, whilst calloused hands darted around serving the stew. He served with an inviting smile that always reached to his gray-eyes, for he never asked his Gods for more, as he just boisterously laughed with his family around him.
Beside him sat the mother, Alarra. Her hands, gently caressing his own, their callouses scraping against each other. Alarra's auburn hair, cascaded in loose waves, just framing her gaze as she watched her beautiful family. Whilst her husband served, she cleared the dirt from Brandon's face, gods only know how he did that, and rolled the sleeves of Alys. With a frame that Torrhen could comfortably encircle, she was often brutally hugged and tickled for it.
Gracing them was the eldest, Alys, opposite her mother. With finely self-stitched wools and furs, perfectly mirroring her mother's, she assisted her father with breakfast, though madding sure to parade Brandon serving as less than her own. But whilst Brandon was cared for by his mother, over questions of dirt, she made sure to slip more from hers into his. Her fine chestnut hair whipped in a loose braid, a perfect weapon against her brother, as she slowly ate her stew and passed her mother a rag.
Being fused over was Brandon. The youngest of the family, eagerly squirming away from the rag, as he complained that it was fine. Black hair tousled with disarray was threaded by soothing hands, again complaints were raised, as his rosy cheeks were filled to the brim with stew. With grey eyes challenging his sister, legs crossed and fought, battled and played, but always ended with others more irritated than the initiator.
The family gathered around the table; the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the warmth.
"Love, the second field needs more tending to. The snow is not going to shovel itself." Torrhen said, leaning back in his chair.
"Well, you best get out there." She smiled. "You sure do love to work me. What would my old da think."
"That you're not working hard enough." He said as he wrapped his arms around her. "He never did approve of us." Alarra pats his face, staring into his eyes.
"Aww, they are so cute," Alys said whilst Brandon faked gaged.
"You two are always doing this, can't breakfast just be normal?"
"Nope, you are stuck with us. Now finish up before you head out."
"I can hear the forest calling for me." Brandon beamed. "I can't wait."
Torrhen pointed his finger up. "Just remember it's about-"
"The Journey, not the destination." Everyone finished.
He smiled. "What can I say, my words can have many meanings and are filled with wisdom."
"Right." Alarra patted his cheek. "Well, can wisdom finish his food so we can get out to the field?"
Satisfied by breakfast, they rose from the table and prepared to face the frosty day. Torrhen and Alarra, bundled in layers of wool and fur, trudged out of the house.
Torrhen's deep voice echoed, "By the God it's cold I can already feel my fingers starting to go."
Alarra chuckled, "Better your fingers than your-." The door slammed closed; a snort of laughter passed through.
As the door closed, the frosty air seeped into the cottage, leaving Brandon and Alys to their own devices. With a mischievous glint in his eye, threw a conspiratorial glance at Alys.
"Hide and seek?" he asked, already heading toward the door.
She, rolling her eyes, "Playing, now? You're hopeless." Shaking her head. "Sorry I have to do some actual work in the barn, but I will play with you later sisters promise."
"Fine, definitely later then, I am going to go see Edric and Jon through, be safe. Bye." Brandon said, wrapped up warm.
As Brandon trudged through the snow, he felt the crisp air sting his cheeks. The village of Winterhaven sprawled before him, its quaint cottages and smoking chimneys lending an air of cosiness to the wintry landscape. He navigated through narrow pathways and reached the village square.
Meanwhile, Alys, shaking her head at her brother's antics, made her way toward the barn. She exchanged pleasantries with neighbours, getting updates on their family matters or new gossip. The barn door creaked open, revealing the tasks that awaited her.
Alys supervised the livestock moving around her familiar work. Sheep groomed, goats fed and oxen funnelled out for work in the fields.
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In the heart of Winterhaven's village square, where the laughter of children mingled with the crisp air, Brandon met his two friends, Edric and Jon.
Looking up at Edric, a straight face greeted Brandon, as little emotion crossed it, other than in the far depths of his eyes, where gratitude dwelled. His short sharp red hair, tousled in the breeze, as Jon talked at him, he merely agreed and nodded whilst a warm shade of hazel eyes followed his friends and watched everything else. Dressed in thick wool clothing that did little to hide the growing man below, he walked with Jon towards Edric, only stopping to catch a kid before he fell headfirst into the snow.
Jon simply chuckled at Edric as he rubbed fresh snow into both of their hair earning giggles from one and scorn from the other. His sharp keen blue eyes mirrored his actions as leaving Brandon out of the action dropped snow down his back. His raven-black hair, permanently in mess, and now laced with snow, boisterously laughed as he gathered more snow. Clad in thick layers of both fur and wool, that blended well together, Jon squeaked as Branon poured snow down his back earning a joyous laugh from him, as his always happy smile reappeared.
The trio left the squared leaving the now spreading snowball fight traversed Winterhaven's snow-covered pathways, the air buzzed with anticipation. The village square was a canvas of winter hues, and the possibilities of the day stretched before them like an unexplored landscape.
Jon bounced on his heels. "So, lads, what's the grand plan for today? More wolf hunting, or how about raiding the village chief's house again, a beating was worth the food."
"Wolf hunting was a stupid idea, can't believe you talked me into that, ye dick." Brandon shook his head. "Let's just explore the forest, I want to find a child of the forest."
Edric rolled his eyes. "Give up on it Bran, it's not going to happen, stop bringing it up. Searching for firewood is better. This winter has got the village reeling, da said is the worst he's seen."
"Practicality, Edric's middle name. Come on, live a little, let's go out and explore, find some shadow cats?"
Edric glared, "Aye, like I am going to follow you again. I'll take my warm fire and food."
Bran wrapped his arms around their heads. "But where's the fun in that? What if we find magic, I heard from a trader that children of the forest can bend trees to their will. Come on you dolts lets go." As he gets shoved away.
Edric shrugged "We've followed enough of Jon's 'great ideas'. Could be fun."
The banter continued as they made their way toward the outskirts of Winterhaven, passing plumes of chimney smoke, and families that all worked on the same plots of land. Towards the north, they went, a dark dense forest met the village edge. Trees adorned with a frosty mantle stood with only the hits of brown curls upon them.