Within days of seeing the wolf, the cold of the snow and the loss of his boot in the stream began to take their toll, and even as his limbs warmed, his body grew ill and Brandyé was unable to move from the house. At night he slept poorly, and during the day spent most of his time before the fire. Though his face was flushed and sweating, his skin became cold to the touch, and he always wrapped around him several blankets.
Continue reading In the weeks that followed their trip to the Burrow Wayde, Brandyé spent many hours sitting before the fire or watching the flurries from behind the large round windows, but what flew through his mind was not flame and snow, but the clash of steel, the cries of battle, and the smell of blood and dirt. He found the thought of such a battle fascinating, for he could not truly imagine such scenes of death and horror; they were outside his experience and his comprehension.
Continue reading Brandyé woke the next morning to the sun coming gently through his window and the scent of breakfast from below. He heard his grandfather humming a tune, and knew where he was, and was relieved. What an odd thing to happen, he thought to himself. I wonder where that place is. He thought he might ask his grandfather, but hesitated—traveling to another place in the middle of the night, when you were meant to be sleeping? It sounded an awful lot like magic, and his grandfather had said he knew of no magic that did not bring harm.
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Satis Writes 