northclifflogs | OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

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OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

𝕒 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝

surprise!

I. Snow!

A mere week after the grisly discovery in the Deep Forest and the subsequent dispersal of the eerie spectral visitors, all Northcliff Pass residents wake one exceptionally frigid morning to find themselves buried under several feet of snow. It is of the light and fluffy variety--at least for now--which provides no shortage of entertainment for the village children, and means one is less likely to throw one's back out while trying to shovel it clear of doorways and the streets.

That is your first order of business, as it happens: free yourselves from your wintry entrapment. Or don't, if you've got enough food and drink squirrelled away in your tiny peasant house that you don't need to venture out into the elements. The world is your cold, shitty, socially stratified oyster; ditch your responsibilities, sleep in.

II. Fete! at ye olde tavern

All Souls' Day came and went, and nobody can really be blamed for forgetting about it what with the ghosts and the gloomy business of seeing to the bodies. All that aside the Hammer and Spoke seems especially welcoming that first wintry night, once all the snow shovelling is finished and the streets are clear enough for foot traffic again; lit lanterns glow warmly outside the door, and from within come the sounds of joyful music. Fiddles, whistles, a drum, and plenty of laughter; it seems the snow has stranded a troupe of minstrels in the village, which means at least two or three nights of great fun for village residents.

In truth it will take more than a few nights of drunk mischief to lift the pall cast across the village after the previous month's discoveries, but maybe that's why so many people gravitate to the light and levity and warmth of a party. After such a close call with so much death, it's good to remind oneself that there's joy in the world, too.

III. Cramped Quarters

The nights might be filled with good company, food, and drink, but during the day the village has to contend with another frustration: the roads in and out of Northcliff Pass are closed until the snow melts.

This is a common experience--in late December, January, and February. Not so much in November, when farmers are preparing to take their surplus harvest and livestock down the mountain to Cliffside, or when caravans with schedules to keep to are preparing to head east towards Woodsedge. (The only road clear in that direction is guaranteed to take them past Turn--something no one wants to risk.) Even a few late-season pilgrims have found themselves stuck between Gods' Reach at the summit of the mountain, and the creature comforts of Cliffside below.

There's nothing to be done for it, of course, except to endure the unusually crowded streets, the lack of vacancies at the tavern, and the occasional herd of sheep or goats picketed in very odd places.

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Living through the last decade has been an exercise in careful, constant restraint. Patience only takes you so far; more important is knowing when not to be patient, when to act and when to sabotage so action can't be taken. And yet, through all of that, Dain never once said out loud how he truly feels or what he truly believes, and though this is likely the safest place in all of Maireglenne to say it, habit forces him to take several seconds simply to unstick his throat.

Tuo's hand on his helps a great deal. Dain looks up into his friend's earnest eyes, and the unbidden smile that comes to his face makes it easier to answer.

"At first," he says, "it was because I thought I could change things, from the inside. The orphanage encouraged it, at the time -- training for the priesthood, I mean -- and I thought I'd be able to change some minds. It didn't really work, of course. I'm... it would take more than one person, to tackle a challenge like that. By the time I realised it, it was dangerous to turn back. I had to make a choice, and I chose this, because Shepherds are the ones who decide who lives and who dies. And --"

He pauses, his tongue once again betraying him, and drinks a little more of the tea.

"-- and at my last count, Tuo, I've rescued thirteen people."

It's so good to see the children in town haven't lost their sense of fun, given all that's happened recently. Dain happens across their game while he's working, and he watches them with a joyful smile -- until they take a bit of a risk involving someone else.

That angry glower has Dain straightening, ready to intervene if necessary, to make sure the children aren't punished for their fun. Hopefully, all he'll need to do is reassure them in the aftermath of a scolding, maybe even join in for a few minutes to make it clear they're safe, but -- as it turns out, he doesn't need to do anything. The man's expression is entirely opposite from his actions.

How interesting. Dain pauses for a moment, thinking; then he quietly gets the children's attention, whispers to them to try again when the man is distracted, and proceeds to move on ahead to be the distraction.

"Good afternoon!" he calls out, when he's only a handful of steps behind. "A fine day, isn't it? Forgive me, I just need to be sure you aren't planning anything nefarious with that snowball in your hand."

Lorne hears the crunching in the snow first, only turning when he's addressed. He's mildly surprised to see a Shepherd is the one questioning him on the snowball and very carefully does not show it; last he checked that wasn't something worth their attention. Unless he's about to get scolded for fake-glaring at children. If that's all it is, he ought to be able to respectfully disengage and be on his way.

All the same, that's a remarkably friendly greeting compared to his expectation of Shepherds.

"Good afternoon," Lorne replies, inclining his head. "Nothing nefarious, no. I like to be prepared for surprises." He hefts the snowball a little, gestures with it back towards where the children were. "More surprises," he amends wryly. "They hit me once already. I can't make it too easy on them if they want to try again."

The children aren't as subtle as they could be. Dain steps casually off to the side, just far enough to draw the man's gaze towards him, not far enough to be obvious. "Ah," he says, "I see. You're planning to deter your attackers with it. That's a noble thought. I imagine they'll need to come up with a very clever solution if they want to try again."

A snowball comes flying toward the man on his other side, aimed straight for his head.

"Such as," Dain says, smiling, "a distraction."

Never let it be said he doesn't use the sobriety expected of his role for the common good.

"Oh ..."

It's not exactly something she'd think about, but hey she's trying to get better at art, right? Of course she also wasn't expecting him to just be blatantly selling her something. But she's not really put off by it, she did express interest earlier. She ruffles through the coin pouch on her belt.

"How much?"

She chews on the inside of her cheeks, thinking. What to ask first? There's so much going on around her and so much she doesn't understand.

"Why ... this?"

She gestures vaguely around her at the patrons' merriment.

"He's going to rebuild my grindstone cradle. Finally."

And that's ... really it she guesses. She's not going to try and posit on his personality or anything without knowing him more. So, there, elaboration.

A smile breaks across Colin's face. "Really? I mean, yes!"

Usually he has to wait for someone to take a cart to Cliffside and hope he can get a ride with them. Travelling with Pippa would be much better.

Oh. Oh my.

"J-just over there, thank you," he indicates the area between the back door of the shop and the counter. "How many candles do you need? I have only a modest supply just now."

"Drying racks and perhaps a bench-mould," Is bench-mould the right word for it? Who knows! It's a thing for making uniform candles in any case and it looks like a bench with holes in it. "And some shelves would be handy."

And it is that sobriety that catches Lorne off-guard enough that another errant snowball almost completely escapes his attention. Lorne spots movement out of the corner of his eye and only barely has time to turn and attempt to jerk out of the way. The snowball still lands, spraying his shoulder and the exposed skin on his face yet again, which is a step up to having it hit his ear.

...the Shepherd definitely distracted him to help the kids. This occurs belatedly, confusion registering over the fond resignation at being pelted with snowballs for the next little while, and he spares the man a faintly incredulous look. Surely if he's willing to assist in a snowball ambush, this Shepherd won't begrudge Lorne disbelief.

He'll have to examine that later; more snowballs are following the first, and since they've no longer the element of surprise the children have resorted to quantity over subtlety. There are more of them than Lorne, but he does have the boon of superior aim and arm strength on his side. Unlike them, however, he's not aiming for anyone's head. That would just be unfair of him. If there's a smile on his face, it's patient and one he's practiced at minimizing - Lorne has long been accustomed to the shenanigans of younger children.

Tuo is someone Lorne is accustomed to seeing during the festival season, coming and going as opportunity or the wind leads him. Seeing him here at this time of year-- well, no one really expected the town to become blockaded by snow so early. Tonight, Tuo is evidently enjoying being part of the audience rather than performing himself - though that dancing-slash-capering could be called a performance, truly - and Lorne doesn't intend to interrupt him.

At some point, thought, Lorne gets up from his semi-secluded table in the corner to get a bit more ale, which has him passing by Tuo on the way to the bar counter. "I see you've gotten stuck here for the winter," he comments by way of greeting.

"S-surely not always," Beane asks, clearly concerned that their reprieve from specters is only temporary. Perhaps if it's not him at fault, though, it's better than waiting for the axe to drop.

By contrast, Dain smiles like he's never needed to practice subduing it. The children squeal in delight and manage to completely avoid anything that resembles teamwork as they dodge unsuccessfully and try to retaliate. There may be more of them, but it's pretty clear who's going to win.

Dain scoops up a handful of loose snow and packs it slowly between his hands. One of the reasons he's never enjoyed working with a partner is the obligation not to get involved in situations like this -- the dangerously stern look he'd receive, the penance he'd need to do later. None of that is on his mind now as he whistles innocently from his spot on the side of the snowball fight, rolling his own snow gently from one hand to the other.

"I'd offer to help," he says apologetically, "but it seems you're doing a little too well on your own. Really, it would be my duty to join in."

She gives a nod before trudging the cauldron over to the desired spot and setting it down gently. Wiping her hands on her trousers she keeps looking down at the large pot, thinking. It's not like she wants to deplete the whole stock when other townsfolk are likely going to be in the same situation she is. She sets her hands on her hips and looks back over to Kendrick.

"Four? How much of a dent would that put in your supplies?"

Changing the minds and hearts of the Glennich--of course Anja would take on such an impossible task, and embrace it. Tuo's lips twist slightly at those words, likely betraying plenty of how he would have approached such an undertaking. But then:

"...and at my last count, Tuo, I've rescued thirteen people."

"Rescued," he repeats faintly, the implications of what his friend says sinking in. His eyes grow very wide. "You're saving witches from the pyre." Or the gallows--or the knife. The Shepherds have never been particularly picky in what means they use to commit murder.

"Like a tortoise." Tuo lifts his chin, his smile all light whimsy. "One may never accuse me of traveling light." Perish the thought.

He unfolds himself from where he sits comfortably tucked on the edge of his wagon, swings his legs over the side, and picks his way through the snow so that he isn't forced to strain his voice to chat with the young man. "What is it you're looking for?"

Again, it takes Dain a moment to answer; but he nods. "Yes."

His heart's pounding, prepared for escape, after years of being trained into recognising confession as suicide. But there's relief somewhere in there too, and maybe that's what's responsible for his hands shaking. He's safe, here, or as safe as he can possibly be, and it's the recognition of safety that makes it clear to Dain how little he's had of it. If this weren't Tuo, he wouldn't know what to do next.

"Anonymously," he goes on, "where I can. It's not enough, it's never enough, but -- it's thirteen more people safe than there would be, if I wasn't trying."

The musicians have taken a break to tune their instruments and spend a bit of their coin on some food and drink, which in turn gives Tuo some time to people-watch and ignore the odd stares that he receives from other people stranded in the village. He stands out by choice, of course, and seems untroubled by this fact.

"I see you've gotten stuck here for the winter."

"It seems that way," he sighs, and gets up from his seat to accompany Lorne to the bar. He gestures artlessly with one hand. "I suppose I will need to take up a more respectable trade than itinerant puppeteer, at least for the interim. And you?" He considers Lorne inquisitively. "Are you stranded as well?"

"For the ones you rescued," Tuo counters gently, "it is more than enough. It is everything."

He can feel Dain's trembling where their hands touch; of course he would be terrified. Has he ever spoken these words aloud to anyone else in all the time he's lived this double life as both Shepherd and devotee to the Night? That's an assumption, of course; Tuo doesn't know whether Dain still believes, and won't ask where his friend's devotions lie.

He brings his other hand to cradle Dain's between his palms, smoothing a thumb across the ridges of his knuckles, and offers his friend's words back to him. "You're safe here," he promises him quietly. There are so few promises he can make, knowing what he knows of his own life and what lies ahead of him, but, nevertheless--"Right here, right now. You are safe with me, Anja."

Tuo's right, of course -- the people rescued, and their families, and their friends. Dain may be something of an idealistic masochist, but even he wouldn't have continued on this path if he didn't see real worth in it.

Still. It never feels like enough.

Then his own words are returned, and they make the situation real, and Dain couldn't prevent the tears falling if he wanted to. He's not even sure what he's weeping for. Family, childhood, unfulfilled promises of a life that never happened, the loneliness Tuo must have lived with, the knowledge that he can't simply come back here each evening and spend his time healing some of that pain. All of it. None of it.

"Dain," he manages, wiping his eyes with his other sleeve. "Not Anja. I go by Johannes Dain now." A smile. "It's one of the only changes I think I would make again."

Lorne is willing to admit some surprise that he's actually winning by any measure, but he's got at least a decade and a half if not two on all of these children, and clearly a better grasp on strategy and leading aim. Running around isn't going to help Lorne much given the depth of the snow, either, so he largely stays put and manages to dodge or bat down most of what comes his way. Not everything; it's possible he lets a few more snowballs through his defense than if he were trying to get them all. The ones that won't hit his head, typically.

The Shepherd's 'innocent' whistling is anything but-- who ever whistles like that and is actually innocent, Lorne has to wonder. The accompanying statement only raises Lorne's suspicions that he's about to get a snowball to the face from a Shepherd but this runs up against his existing understanding of Shepherd behavior. This is likely the only reason Lorne does not immediately turn Dain's way to throw a pre-emptive snowball in his direction, and instead snaps his head back and forth between children and Shepherd several times while his worldview struggles to catch up to this new information.

"You always have tricks up your sleeve; I imagine you'll figure something out." This comes out a little dry but with enough genuine certainty to take away any cutting edge the words might have. Tuo is capable of more than his profession might outwardly suggest, of that Lorne is sure. He'll manage.

At the counter he catches the barkeeper's eye, and waits until the customers ahead of him have been attended. "Stranded by choice, perhaps. I've moved back home permanently." Or until opportunities that would benefit his family take him elsewhere, but he'll be happy enough to stay here for the foreseeable future.

Dain hesitates, worried for a moment that he's misjudged and put himself in a difficult situation -- cruel to drop the snowball, mean to throw the snowball.

But they are, after all, in the middle of a snowball fight.

He throws the snowball.

It's not aimed for Lorne's head, at least. It's more chest level. And from the way Dain's weight shifts in the aftermath, it's obvious he's expecting a return barrage, and equally obvious that he welcomes it.

The Shepherd throws the snowball and it whacks into Lorne's side. Now Lorne can assuage the warning bell in the back of his mind about the possibility of bringing unwelcome attention of the church. The Shepherd started it.

That's a spectacularly childish argument, he's aware. Lorne is an adult and can make better choices than any child. He's also getting snowballs lobbed at him on two fronts, and he is not nearly as good at throwing with his off-hand. This just got more complicated and not only due to the involvement of a person Lorne still can hardly believe is there.

All the same, it's only a few moments before one of Lorne's snowballs is sailing right back at Dain, aimed at his torso. He doesn't wait to see if it lands before scooping up more snow to toss at the children again. Today is going very weirdly.

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Page 7 of 10

OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

𝕒 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝

I. Snow!

II. Fete! at ye olde tavern

III. Cramped Quarters

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