The cold was biting, the kind that seeped into bones and refused to let go. Theodas paused. Glancing back at Ochrea, who was cradling the child close to her chest, the wind tugged at the edges of her cloak. The path ahead was steep and unforgiving, with the last vestiges of daylight quickly fading into dusk.
“We should make camp soon,” Theodas suggested, concern edging his voice. “Nightfall is close.”
Ochrea looked past him, her sharp eyes catching the distant glow of lights far below, nestled in the valley. It was a village, its presence like a flicker of hope against the encroaching darkness. She weighed the options quickly—turning back to their camp would mean retracing their steps, losing precious time and warmth. The child in her arms shivered, a soft whimper escaping his lips, and she felt a surge of resolve harden within her.
“There’s a village just ahead,” she said, nodding toward the lights. “It looks like it’s only a few hours away at most. If we go now, we should make it there before nightfall.”
Theodas followed her gaze, calculating the distance in his mind. He knew the terrain, knew the risks, but he also knew the dangers of staying out in the open with the cold closing in. “It’s a risk,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. But he nodded, decision made. “It’s likely better for this little one.” He inclined his head toward the baby.
The wind tugged at Ochrea's cloak, reminding them of the urgency. “We’ll push on,” he said, the resolve clear in his voice.
With a shared understanding, they moved quickly, the path winding down into the valley. The rocks shifted underfoot, but they were steady, driven by the knowledge that shelter and warmth were within reach. The wind grew fiercer as they descended, carrying with it the scent of snow and the promise of a harsh night.
Along their way, Ochrea’s keen eyes caught a splash of color just off the trail, something that didn’t belong in the gray and white landscape. She slowed, her instincts pulling her towards the anomaly, and carefully stepped off the path to investigate. There, snagged on the sharp thorns of a low bush and partially buried beneath a light dusting of snow, was a small blanket.
She knelt, her breath catching in her throat as she pulled the blanket free from the brambles. The fabric was thick and heavy, woven from durable wool, but it was worn and tattered, as if it had been exposed to the harsh elements for far too long. The once-vibrant colors—a rich tapestry of deep reds, earthy browns, and dark greens—had faded to a muted palette, their original brightness dulled by dirt, time, and neglect. Intricate geometric patterns, typical of dwarven craftsmanship, ran along the length of the blanket, forming interlocking squares and stylized mountain ranges that spoke of protection, strength, and the deep connection to the earth that all dwarves shared.
The edges of the blanket were frayed, threads hanging loose where the fabric had been caught and torn, possibly as it had been dragged through the wilderness. Ochrea noticed darker stains, ominous blotches that marred the wool. A shiver ran down her spine as she wondered about their origin. She turned the blanket over, her fingers brushing against a subtle glint of silver woven into the borders—a delicate touch, almost imperceptible, that reflected the dwarves’ affinity for metalwork, even in the most mundane of objects.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Near one corner, partially hidden by the grime and wear, was a small, embroidered symbol—a family crest, now barely discernible, a once-proud mark of heritage reduced to a faint reminder of the child to whom this blanket had belonged. The blanket, though tattered and stained, still carried with it the echoes of warmth, safety, and love that had once wrapped around a small, cherished life.
Ochrea stood slowly, holding the blanket in her hands, the weight of it suddenly feeling much heavier. Theodas, noticing her stop, came to her side, his gaze falling to the blanket she held. The unspoken understanding passed between them—the blanket wasn’t just a piece of cloth left behind; it was a tragic remnant of something lost, something precious. Without a word, Ochrea carefully folded the blanket and tucked it into her pack, the sense of urgency to reach the village now tinged with a growing sense of foreboding.
The stone walls of the village loomed ahead, solid and imposing, a welcome sight after the steep and unforgiving climb down the mountainside. Torchlight flickered on either side of the gates, casting long, dancing shadows across the snow-dusted ground. The faint, comforting smell of burning wood reached their noses, mingling with the crisp, cold air and promising warmth and safety just beyond the barrier. Distant sounds from the village—muffled voices, the occasional bark of a dog—drifted to their ears, reminding them that they were nearing the end of their cold, arduous journey.
As they drew nearer, the village’s defenses became more apparent—heavy wooden gates reinforced with iron bands, each one engraved with ancient runes of protection. The wood, darkened by the smoke of countless winters, was sturdy, the kind that had weathered both storms and battles. Behind the gates, Ochrea could make out the faint outline of a watchtower, a lone sentinel against the night. The village was a fortress in miniature, every stone and timber telling the story of a people who had learned to survive in the harshest of lands.
Theodas stepped forward, his boots crunching on the frozen ground as he approached the gate. Instead of knocking with his dagger, Theodas reached into his pack, his fingers brushing past familiar items until they found the small, intricately carved stone—a keepsake imbued with the memory of his travels. He flicked his wrist, tossing it at the gate. The stone struck the wood with a resonant thunk that was followed by a soft, melodic hum, like the echo of a distant chime. The sound lingered in the air, a brief, haunting tune that reverberated through the stillness, catching Ochrea’s attention. She glanced at Theodas with a mix of curiosity and amusement as the stone bounced back into his hand. He caught it smoothly, a faint smile playing on his lips, and slipped the stone back into his pack. Behind him, Ochrea stood close, cradling the child against her chest, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air as they waited for a response.
“Who goes there?” came a gruff voice, thick with the accent of the mountain dwarves. The small hatch at eye level had slid open, revealing a pair of sharp, suspicious eyes. They were a deep, rich brown with flecks of amber, catching the torchlight in a way that made them appear almost golden. The eyes darted from Theodas to Ochrea, narrowing as they took in the sight of the child bundled in her arms. There was a flicker of something—concern, curiosity, or perhaps guardedness—within those amber-flecked depths, a momentary pause before the voice spoke again, demanding answers.
“Just weary travelers,” Theodas replied with a hint of a smile, his tone polite but carrying an undercurrent of confidence. “In need of warmth and a roof over our heads for the night—and perhaps a bit of mercy for the little one here. It’s been a long journey, and he could use a proper fire to sleep by.”
Ochrea’s fingers tightened around the blanket, her breath shallow as they waited for the dwarf’s response. The tension in the air was palpable, the cold seeping deeper as they stood in silence.
Finally, the hatch slid shut with a clang, leaving them in a silence that felt heavier than before. Ochrea could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each breath a small cloud in the frigid air.
The sound of heavy locks being undone echoed through the still night, metal scraping against metal with a dull groan. Slowly, the gates swung open, revealing a warm, inviting light that spilled out onto the snow, casting the travelers in a soft, golden glow. A stocky dwarf with a thick beard and eyes that spoke of long, weary nights stepped forward. His grip on the weapon at his side relaxed as he took them in, then with a curt nod, he gestured for them to enter.
“Come in, then,” he said, his tone gruff but with a hint of warmth. “No sense in freezing out there when there’s a fire waiting in here. There's not really too much to it see, but welcome to Harthstone.”
Ochrea and Theodas exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them before they stepped through the gates and into the warmth of the village.