13 Mins (1)

Apricity watched as the snow blanketed her sister's casket. She was the last of her blood ties. Alone the dread of winter began to creep in around her. The tree branches loudly cracked unable to withstand the wind, the small group of mourners turned toward the forest and watched as the dormant trees splintered apart.

Winter's wind called to Apricity. Before her sister had passed she could hear it faintly. Their warmth had kept the chill of the wind away. Now, however, on her own, she heard it clearly.

Heavens be.

Heavens fall.

"Winter will come for us all," she finished. The mourners shocked faces turned to her.

They knew she alone would not be able to bring warmth to the village. They knew it was time to move on. Yet her words were not spoken in warning, but as fact, as premonition.

That same evening the villagers gathered in the square with whatever belongings they could carry. The able bodied villagers prepared to leave with wagons filled with provisions and children wrapped in the warmest of furs, while the elderly and the sick watched from the windows. They were left with only a small amount of firewood, not to survive the winter but to wait for it to take them in comfort.

They set off east over the rough mountain trails in hopes of meeting the warm sun by morning. Apricity trailed behind the group by some miles as to keep the villagers safe from the darkness that now followed her.