Brandyé of course did not die of his illness that winter, and in fact recovered not long after having been thrown into the snow by his grandfather. Reuel seemed somewhat ill-disposed for some time after, however; it was uncertain if he had merely caught the cold that had afflicted Brandyé, or if he was disaffected by coming so near to losing his grandson and the wild things Brandyé had uttered while under the mad influence of his fever.
Continue reading
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
Satis Writes 