Catryn’s eyes went red, the rage boiling over inside her. As her magic battled for control, the bandit’s smile faltered as he felt her alarming presence sweeping over him. Her hands shook but her voice was strong. “You get one warning. Release them. Or die.”
The freedom of wind rushing through her hair, one last time. If her mind could register the childish longing, buried somewhere deep within, she might have given into it. Instead, she sighed the wish away on a heavy exhale and scanned the street below.
Slumping her shoulders, she muttered “You’re better off without me. You’ve shown that today. You don’t need me, and I definitely don’t need you."
A cold blue flickering light caught her attention. It flittered and danced at the edge of her vision, surrounded by strange, haunting whispers. Echoes of the life it had once led. Ahren felt the change in her and sighed with a small mocking smile.
Though it had never rained in Camelot, the entire camp was covered in a blanket of snow for the Winter Festival. Snowflakes were drifting steadily from a clear blue sky.
The talisman of the Gatekeeper hanging at Wolf’s wrist was her first and only warning of the attack before a thick rusted blade swung out of the shadows. She pulled back just in time, feeling the rush of cold air as the clumsy hunk of metal that passed for a greatsword rushed by her face.
Frost seemed to cling to her breath, and the temperature dropped. Her opponent was clearly known as the Winter Prince for a reason, she grinned, as she saw a familiar face approaching.
Ghostly whimpers and whispers filled the air, and the temperature dropped once more. They held their breath as they considered the options, but they all felt the change in the air as the beasts caught their scents.
The later combat rounds were…brutal. The rules were dropped, and the fight would continue until there was a decisive outcome. That meant one of the fighters had to concede the fight or be unconscious or incapacitated.
Seeing the meat sloughing from their bones, the sinew snapping, turned her stomach. Their wrappings had unravelled and hung off them, along with strips of skin, fluttering in a breeze Wolf could not feel.
A Journey in Self Expression 