Winter's Child - Conclusion

After lulling the young one to sleep, I set aside the reeds I had been playing. For reasons I did not fully understand, I did not wish to leave yet. Nor did I believe I was supposed to enjoy playing with the young one as I had. It was difficult to feel aggression in the face of such joy.

I began to sculpt the snow beside the nest, working noiselessly with minimal movement, as I’d been taught when I was much younger. One of the many-spired buildings of the old times began to take shape, something from before the transformation. The young one seemed to like the pictures I drew in the ice of this the best.

Sometimes, during the times of warmth when we were trapped on the mountain, the old ones would create sculptures for entertainment. They were beautiful, delicate structures, some purely visual, others designed so that the wind blowing through them would create music.

There were those among us who began to question the ways we had adopted. They preferred to stay high in the mountains, creating their sculptures and music. When pressed to do their duty to the clan, they simply gathered their things and moved to another mountain. In time, we lost all contact with them.

This war with the humans had gone on for centuries, and from what I could see, few humans were even aware of our existence any more. Was this to be how I ended my days, picking you off, one by one. I derived no satisfaction from your deaths.

I have seen ages pass. Is it possible to have lived too long? Though winter is far from over, I can smell a tang in the air that means a thaw is coming. I look at the young one sleeping so peacefully, so trusting. I must return to my mountain.

I will not be back down again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Though Frank was adamant everyone was to look with a buddy, James searched apart from the others. His voice grew hoarse from calling and the cold seeped into his bones. How cold must poor Joey be feeling?

He wished his father were here, he knew these woods like the back of his hand, in fact he had been a volunteer for the search and rescue, often leading the way. Then he grimaced at the thought. This was the kind of weather Joseph would say belonged to winter’s children.

It felt liked he’d been out here forever, walked for miles. How far could one little boy wander by himself. It was almost as though Joey had been following something, or been led away.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Reluctantly he stopped to answer it, pulling off his glove so he could push the buttons.

“James, it’s Frank. It’s getting dark, we’re going to have to call it quits.”

“Just a few more minutes,” James begged. “We’ve come so far, he can’t be much further.”

There was a sigh. “Half an hour, then I’m sounding the horn.”

“Thank you, Frank,” James said,

“You’ve got your light, just in case?”

“Yes.”

“At least it stopped snowing, you’ll be able to follow your tracks back.”

“I’ll see you back at the house,” James said.

They both knew that, dark or not, he wouldn’t be going back without Joey.

James pocketed his phone again and caught sight of something moving in the trees.

“Joey?” he called, hopefully. “Is that you buddy?”

The movement seemed to be going away from him, rather than towards him, but some instinct had him following. As he neared the clearing where the pond lay, a nameless dread filled him. Could Joey have made it this far and found a soft spot in the ice?

Then he saw her. She stood a few feet away, tall and thin, unearthly beautiful. His breath caught in wonder. Impatiently she beckoned and he followed, spellbound. As they reached the edge of the pond she disappeared. James cried out, looking around wildly. Then all else was forgotten as the small, snow covered mound almost at his feet, began to move.

James set off the alert to the others as he dropped to his knees, gathering his son to him. In no time, they were surrounded by others from the hunting party. Those with guns pointed them in the air, letting off a volley to let the others back at the house know Joey had been found.

Joey squirmed in his father’s grasp, he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

“Did you see her Dad?”

“See who?” James asked hoarsely.

“My friend. I think she was one of Winter’s children. She played with me and when I got tired she made me this bed and I felt nice and warm.”

James glanced down at the hollow Joey had been curled up in and saw that it was filled with pine boughs, insulating him from the bitter cold.

“She was, wasn’t she Dad? One of Winter’s children, just like grandpa said.”

“Yes, Joey, just like grandpa said,” James hugged his son closer to him, tears streaming down his face – tears of relief, tears for himself, and tears for the father he hadn’t believed in.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here:
Introduction, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,  Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,  Part 12 Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17