Faelan Wildwhisper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Faelan stepped off the ice with the cracked gazebo cupped in both hands. The new symbol glowed pale at first. Then it began to burn. Heat would have made sense. This was the opposite. The mark pulled warmth out of her palms in slow, steady sips. She stumbled toward the lantern willow and sank against its frozen trunk. Her fingers went white. Her breath came short. The symbol drank deeper, reaching past her skin, past her ribs, toward something quieter underneath. She understood then. It was teaching her cold. Real cold. The kind a turtle carries in its blood. If she let it keep taking, she might finally hear that ancient voice. If she let it take too much, she would not come back. Her free hand fumbled at her side and found the white wicker basket she had set down at the pond's edge. Inside were her pouches, the snake skin, every small thing she had saved from creatures who had answered her. Proof of warmth. Proof of who she was. She gripped the handle hard. A shadow moved through the willows. The white wolf she knew watched her with green, steady eyes. Behind it, higher up, the winged cat hovered, wings shedding soft light. Neither came closer. They were waiting to see what she chose. Faelan let the symbol take a little more. Just enough to feel the edge. Then she pressed the gazebo flat against the icy bark and twisted. The burning mark dimmed, sealed against the wood, half-learned. She kept the artifact. She kept herself. Her hands shook around the basket, but the cold inside her had a shape now, and a shape was something she could study.