Valimar hefted his leather and wicker pack full of goods onto his back with a grunt. A handful of snowflakes drifted lazily from the gray sky and alighted on the elven man’s black hair. They melted as he strode the cobbled streets of Murkgwen, cool droplets trickling down his head and slipping inside the high collar of his woolen coat. He thoughtlessly shrugged his shoulders, his thoughts and gaze directed inwards.

Winter was arriving early this year, as it had the year before and the year before that. At almost a hundred years, Valimar was no neophyte when it came to the Ombering Woods, its dark moods and dispositions. Like the other elfkin of Murkgwen, he regarded the ancient, grand stretch of hills and pine as a sort of beast with its own personality, desires, and grudges.

Yet, as dusk settled and inhaled the wood smoke coming from his neighbor’s houses, something gnawed at Valimar. The feeling that this was not simply the forest being its usual, moody self, but that something had troubled it.

He glanced at the flickering, oily-green wards that lined Murkgwen’s walls with trepidation. His house rested against the northern wall. The magically enforced stone sheltered them from the worst of the storm winds. While the sight ought to set his heart at ease—Murkgwen’s walls had been built five hundred years ago and never been breached—it always failed to do so. Valimar couldn’t help but wonder what might lurk on the other side.

As he pushed the door to his house open, a blast of warm air hit him along with the scent of spiced apple cider and baking clay.

“I’m home!” he called.

After slipping his boots off, he made a gesture of warding. A faint, golden symbol appeared on the red wood of the front door before fading from view.

Satisfied, Valimar headed to the kitchen to unload his pack.

Fildarae and Theia, his wife and young daughter were there already. Pottery, all Fildarae’s work, lined the shelves and tables. Theia had claimed a spot for herself and was drawing on a length of paper with her charcoals.

“Daddy!” she yelled, holding up her black-stained hands for a hug. Valimar happily obliged and kissed her delicate strands of corn-silk hair.

“You’ve been gone for a while,” Fildarae commented, not looking up from her work. The brass and stone grinder was second only to the kiln for her work. There she crushed feldspar and bone ash, glass and tin, to create the clay pastes she molded.

“I missed you too,” Valimar replied, kissing her neck and making sure to press his still-cold nose to her hot cheek. That earned him a squeak and a reproachful look.

He began to unload his pack. “Lots of news from the south. Red blades are on the move again.”

Fildarae frowned. “They never come this far north. People just like to gossip about terrible things that might happen. It makes their lives exciting. The worst thing that will happen this winter is the price of fish will go up. Oh, speaking of which…?”

Valimar held up the dark bottle of fish oil. “Got it.”

“What’s a Red Blade, Daddy?” asked Theia.

“They’re troublemakers,” he replied. Valimar hadn’t expected her to pick up on what he’d said. Half the time, it was like she didn’t hear a word he said. “Their Exarch is a bad person, not like ours. What are you drawing?”

He quickly changed the subject.

“It’s a caterpillar with wheels!” Theia held up the paper with delight. The image was of some sort of sinuous monster making its way through the forest. “It goes chagga-chagga.”

“Oh?” he replied, studying it. “Is that smoke coming from its head?”

“Yes, because of the fire.”

“A fire-breathing caterpillar with wheels?”

“The people inside his head feed him rocks for the fire, so he takes them over the hills.” She pointed to his side, smudging the lines. “See them?”

Sure enough, three stick people peered out from holes carved in its side.

“Are the people very small or is the caterpillar very big?”

Theia screwed up her face, he could see the tiny gears working behind her eyes. “They’re people! They’re not small!”

Her attitude shifted from delight to sadness in a flash, her face reddening. She was going to cry. Valimar had no idea why—the things that set her off were a mystery to him.

“It’s fine, honey, tell me mor…”

Too late, she started to howl. With a sigh, Valimar sat down on the wooden bench beside her and wrapped his arms around her. Thick tears trickled down her face and she buried her snotty nose into the rough wool of his coat.

“Everything is alright, sweetie. I’m here.” He tapped her back gently as she sobbed for a minute. Fildarae joined them, wiping Theia’s face clean with a warm, wet cloth. Then, Theia calmed and it was over.

Valimar thought he’d be ready to have a child, but Theia vexed him. Her moods could shift like the wind. One moment, she seemed attentive and normal, then the next she would become somber or throw a tantrum over nothing.

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That evening, as they slipped into bed, Valimar brought up his concerns to Fildarae.

“You’re worrying. You’re always worrying about something, dear. Children her age don’t know how to handle their emotions.”

Fildarae sat before her dressing table, brushing her long, golden hair. It sparkled in the lantern light. Valimar stretched out on the bed. The dark glass of the bedroom window was frosted over. High-lantern would be soon and then the Boar’s Wound, and then the year would be over, passing like so many others had before.

“I thought earlier—I spoke with Marcus and he brought his child to the seer. He was bragging about the results. The boy’s vitality is very high.”

Fidarae set her brush down and began to gather her long hair up. “And?”

“I thought we might take Theia.”

A long silence followed as she pinned her hair down and slipped on her nightcap. “You know I don’t approve of that custom.”

“Marcus said the seer only asks for a small donation. Many humans take their children as soon as they are born.”

“Come on, Val—you must see how foolish that is. Measuring the strength and intelligence of a newborn? Of a three-year-old? It is a bizarre practice. Our priestesses say that Theia is healthy. Isn’t that more meaningful than her ‘vitality’ being an eight or a ten?”

Valimar rubbed his face, suddenly feeling very tired as she rested beside him. He understood her point. The seers and their numbers appealed to short-lived races like humans. They wanted to know what their children were good for early on. Longer lived races tended to let their children become adults and find out on their own what they wanted. Valimar had spent three decades as a sailor before he’d felt the pull of the northern forests.

“You’re probably right,” he muttered. “I should travel the steps to Halfar before the first big snow and give an offering. Ask for a reading for the coming year.”

“That would be good.”

The first big snow turned out to be ten days later. The northern wind roared and Ombering fell under a thick blanket of white. Worry about Red Blades coming from the south turned to worry about supplies not being able to make it to the valley.

When High-lantern came, Val dressed Theia up in her fur-lined cloak and boots and took her to fools’ pageant. As they watched the men in their colorful rags tumble and prance across the stage, other children laughed at their antics. Theia snuggled into his side and watched silently, her expression far too solemn.

He brought her to the human seer when the show was done.

A strange-looking man—his head shaved, his heavy crimson robe embroidered with moon and stars. The small stone building where he plied his trade smelled of camphor. Though he was wrinkled and wizened, it was hard for Val to see a man half his age play the role of the learned sage. And the play the part he did, stroking his long, thin beard, staring at Theia’s palms, pulling up a map of the heavens, and leafing through a thick leather tome of star charts.

When he began to toss out hexagonal coins and asking what color the sunset had been the day of Theia’s birth, Val started to feel the fool.

In the end, the man entered a sort of trance where he rolled his eyes back into his head until only the white showed, and used brush and ink to write down Theia’s ‘status’ on a length of sheepskin.

He passed out on silken pillows after this and his attendant, who had remained silent throughout, hurried to pass over the sheepskin to Val as though it were spun of gold. Valimar looked at it curiously, wondering what he’d paid for. As his eyes scanned the words and symbols, his face darkened.

“Are you sure…?” he asked.

“The master is always right,” replied the attendant, bowing his own shaved head. “But this reading has drained him. Please feel free to come back another time if you need help interpreting the results.”

They left the seer’s abode.

“It stinked in there,” Theia whispered as she trudged through the snow.

When Fildarae returned from dinner with her sister, Valimar had already put Theia to bed. He waited for her to slip out of her heavy winter jacket and join him beside the fire.

He handed her a glass of apple brandy, his own already half empty.

“I took Theia to the seer…” he began. She sighed. “Before you object, I want to show you the results.”

She studied the sheepskin, lips pressed tight. He watched the same combination of confusion and concern cross her face as she read on.

“We should--” Fildarae hesitated. “I don’t know what this means. We should show it to a priestess. Take Theia up to Halfar tomorrow. They can explain, I’m sure.”

The journey up the mountainside was pleasant in summer, but treacherous whenever it rained or snowed. Val ended up carrying Theia on his back.

“Why do priestesses live so high up?” she asked.

“That’s where the holy places are,” he explained.

Halfar was a hot spring, its waters known for their healing properties. The priestesses were all elfkin with a handful of human novices. Carvings of the Wud gods in their animal forms, old when Murkgwen was little more than a logging camp, clustered around the edges of steaming pools. A marble statue of the Exarch of the Winds sat in the shrine, idly strumming her lyre.

Valimar explained the situation and presented the sheepskin. He was ready to be laughed at. Wasting so much time and energy on a false reading would normally anger him, but today he wanted to hear that nothing was amiss.

Thirty minutes they waited until Dalin, one of the senior priestesses appeared. She dressed in silks as white as the snow and leaves grew within the black mane of her hair.

She sat beside Theia, taking the girl’s hands in her own.

“Child,” Dalin asked, “do you know of someone named Ragavarah?”

“Um…” Theia looked to her parents.

Fildarae spoke up. “Answer the priestess.”

“Maybe.” She squirmed under all the adult attention.

“Is Ragavarah a spirit? Have they ever spoken to you?”

“Maybe?”

“What did they say?”

“He said I’m good. Didn’t do anything bad.”

Dalin let go of Theia’s hands with a smile and pulled out the skin with her status. She pointed out a part of it. “No one thinks you did something bad. You have a blessing from a spirit called Ragavarah.”

“Oooh, the blue man,” Theia replied, remembering something.

“This says you also have very high mana. Mana is what mages use to cast spells.”

She nodded in understanding and began to wave her hands around. “Magic!”

“Can you cast a spell for me now?”

Valimar and Fildarae simultaneously held their breath, their bodies tense.

Theia’s shoulders sagged. “Not yet.” She waved her hands a few more times as though trying to press the air into a ball only she could see.

Dalin rose and moved closer to the couple, her voice soft. “I assume you two are aware of the laws regarding mages?”

“They’re not going to take her from us, are they?” asked Val.

“Not immediately, no. Her magic potential is undeniable, however; once she begins to manifest her powers, she’ll be tested. While it’s all very sudden, this is a great opportunity. She’ll have access to some of the best schooling on the continent. And it’s not like she’ll never return—once she’s finished her education and done her duty--”

“But it’s dangerous! What if she…?” Fildarae stopped speaking, not wanting to voice her fear. She looked over at her daughter.

Theia looked at the huddle of adults with a curious expression.

“The road is difficult this time of year,” said Dalin. “I’ll have tea brought and you can rest up a bit. I’d be happy to offer a prayer in your honor before you leave. Once the holidays are over, I’ll contact the magistrate and explain the situation. A mage will visit you soon. They’ll see Theia gets proper stewardship before she’s placed in one of the arcane academies.”