Description
“Do you think snow remembers where it’s been?” Aldric looked at him, surprised. “That sounds like something I’d ask.” Berin only smiled. “Maybe I’ve been listening to you too long.” They both laughed quietly, their breath fogging the glass. The next morning, they built a snow fort near the old yew tree. The village children joined in, flinging soft handfuls of snow and tumbling into piles of laughter. A small robin perched on a nearby branch, watching them with calm interest. Time seemed to stretch endlessly in Wendmere. Nothing rushed. No one hurried. The sun took its time crossing the sky, and the stars blinked slowly awake each night. By spring, the river had swelled, and crocuses peeked through the thawing earth. Aldric and Berin helped clean the village well, drawing buckets and scrubbing the stones. It was hard work, but the kind that left your muscles tired and your heart full. One afternoon, Aldric found Berin sitting by the chapel wall, sketching something in the dirt with a stick. “Another game?” Aldric asked. Berin shook his head. “I dreamt of a place. It had a bridge made of light. No walls. No roof. Just sky above and a soft voice calling.” Aldric sat beside him. “That sounds like Edda’s stories.” Berin smiled softly. “Maybe I’ve got questions of my own now.” The two sat in silence, watching bees move from bloom to bloom. A dog barked in the distance. Somewhere, a wind chime tinkled gently. The world of Wendmere turned slowly, quietly, with its soft edges and steady rhythm.