77 Frost 120
Faine closed their eyes and breathed in sunlight. How good it felt to finally bask in golden warmth.
Though the mountain air remained frosty and the snow had only just begun to melt, it made a stark difference to feel even the palest hint of sun upon their skin. For the last sixty some days, Faine had endured gloom, hail, snow storms, and unrelenting cold. There was respect to be found in Lady Winter's reign, but even so the Fae was happy to see its imminent end.
The sun's return—and having lived to witness it—was no small occasion, and to celebrate it they had decided to go poking around for any new signs of life. Glade was fast approaching, and with it the wakening of many flora down the mountain, where snow was no doubt forming into rivulets of icy water.
Rising from the rock on which they had decided to rest for a brief moment, the hermit slung their pack onto their shoulders once more and continued making their way downstream. They were taking the scenic route today, marveling at how quickly life returned to what used to be a frozen strip of ice. Signs of fish and tadpoles wiggled about as the stream gurgled musically. Every few steps along the way, the little green heads of sprouts could be seen poking out from the softening earth. All around, things scurried, chirped, swayed. At long last, the mountain was coming back to life.
The Fae's heart thrummed. What new treasures would they harvest today?
It was somewhere halfway between their cottage and Kalzasi proper that they suddenly slowed, beaming face morphing into worried frown. In their wakening, many of the flora had grown louder. It took some time to adjust, having spent day after day in absolute silence, but Faine could just barely pick out a single, alarming trill amidst all the din.
Aaaahh! It scrambles, it clings! Will Mother hold? We hope she does...we fear she will not...
Curious as to what could be awake so early and large enough to threaten an elder, they changed course and headed deeper into the woods, away from the burbling stream. Along the way, they skirted around buds and saplings, careful to avoid crushing any of the juveniles. The voices felt closer and closer, which was the only way Faine knew they were headed in the right direction. They tried to reach out and ask the saplings if they could explain in detail, or at least send a quick image, but the young ones were too lost in their own panic.
By the time they found the clearing where all this commotion had exploded, things had quieted down to some degree. 'Mother,' as it turned out, was an ancient and gnarled willow tree. Her body was covered in dark green moss, her branches thick and half bare from Frost's withering cold.
It was because of the willow's lack of its usual, lush tresses that Faine was able to spot right away what had been causing its children so much stress.
For some reason or other, there was...a person, huddled up amongst the branches. The Fae squinted. There was no way of telling whether this individual was in any kind of danger, but from the tense angles of their body, they did not seem to be having a merry old time, either.
Having learned their lesson from the last time they had decided to trust a bunch of melodramatic saplings, Faine bypassed them entirely and walked up until they could look right up at the figure up in the trees. Even with fewer leaves in the way, it was hard to make out exact features. They could see pale skin, dark hair, but beyond that there was not much else the Fae could go on. So, instead, they decided to ask in their typical, forthright manner.
"Hello there. Are you alright?"
Common ❀Valasren