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Writer's pictureMark Sanders

Chapter 11: Snow


The trail up the mountain was steep, but the path was clear of obstacles. It didn’t take long before Osric was walking above the treetops of the forest. Winds whipped from every direction, and a thick bank of clouds washed away the moons and stars above. Snow fell upon the path, dry and powdery, so it didn’t make the way slippery, but it did chill Osric through his cloak and clothes. His apparel wasn’t suitable for winter, and his hands shook as if palsied, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably.


The snowstorm pushed past the mountain as quickly as it had started, leaving a howling wind in its wake that Osric began to think would simply blow the life right out of his body with as little effort as it would take for him to blow out a candle.  He considered turning back, but the trees below looked miles away. If the moss path had led him this way to kill him, freezing to death would be relatively painless. Osric continued upward.


As the path narrowed, the snow thinned. A dark recess was visible ahead, and it felt as if the air coming from inside it was warm. He reached the entrance, and the air was warmer. “Is this a dormant volcano?” Osric thought. “Do they even have volcanoes here?” The heat must be emanating from somewhere, and it seemed his journey demanded he follow its warmth. He stepped into the cavern, and the walls lit up with the faerie pattern.

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