The harbour of Fristad was completely frozen over. Smaller boats had been heaved out of the water to protect their hull. Resting on wooden stands and covered with cloth, they waited for spring. The Fri ship had been sailed out further and anchored where the ice could not reach it. The city itself was draped in a white mantle. Frost clung to the rooftops and walls, and snow slowly sailed down from the sky, quietly piling up all around them.

By Midwinter, the fresh food was running out. All remnants were served at a final feast that night. After it, there was only salted or fermented fish, bitterleaf and roots, and enough grain to make a starving man loose his appetite. Before the feast could commence, the Midwinter challenge had to be performed. Sylvia was curious to bear witness to it. The challenge was a test of resolve as well as a promise. It was said that those who participated in the Midwinter challenge carried their peers into the next year. They battled the winter itself. By challenging the ocean, they urged the moon back and coaxed the sun to return. All fable, of course, but a tradition as old as time.

No one seemed to know just when this ritual began, or why. According to some history books, the practice originated at the northern tip of Severn, many months of travel from Holmen. It was a test of strength, and an essential part of maturing into an adult. Others claimed it was invented by mages in the north of Sev, who found a way to shorten the winter through an extreme form of elemental bending, which required them to turn their entire bodies to ice. Some legends even ascribed godhood to the moon and sun themselves, and likened the challenge to a prayer.

Sylvia wondered if anyone in Fristad really believed in the struggle against the dark, or if it was just an excuse to show off. Whichever the case, it was a dangerous practise. Under the supervision of the Fri, no one under the age of twenty was allowed to participate. Drownings were exceedingly rare, but cold shocks and frost damage were not. Bothilder displayed his discoloured pinky toe with some pride.

By some ladders reaching down from the harbour walkway, the ice was broken with pickaxe and saw. The chunks were hooked and heaved aside, leaving an open pool of icy water. When the longest night fell, torches were lit and placed all along the piers. Among these flames gathered the Fri and their Nordborg allies. Drums played loudly, and onlookers stomped their feet against the wooden walkway.

Thorun was the first to pick a fight with the ice. She lay down her swords, screamed, and ran to the ocean. In tunic and trousers, she leapt off the edge of the walkway. With a loud splash, she landed in the icy water, and her comrades roared with enthusiasm. Sylvia pulled her jacket tighter around herself and shuddered.

Oskar grumbled to himself. “Remind me why I am doing this?”

“Honour?”, Tone suggested.

“An inflated ego?”, Una added.

“Stupidity”, Ida determined.

Oskar chuckled and shook his head. He lay down his axe and took a deep breath before following Thorun’s example. Yri and Kvist were not far behind, followed by Una and Ida. More and more people jumped into the icy depths. Some yelled before their leap, others after, and some all throughout. Those standing on the piers helped pull their friends back out and greeted them into the new year with towels and blankets.

“Afi! Are you coming?!”, Thorun called.

Afi pointed at himself in question.

“Are you a fighter or not? Show some spirit! Cross over”, Yri agreed, patting him on the shoulder with a wet hand.

Smirking, Afi set his sword aside. Nudging Sylvia, he asked, “Are you coming as well?”

Sylvia brought her hands up defensively. “No. I am no fighter, and I have nothing to prove.” She nodded toward the pier. “Go on, Sworn, have your moment.”

“Yes, Liege”, Afi jested. He ran across the walkway and jumped. When he resurfaced, he gasped and swam for the nearest ladder.

Sylvia shook her head in amusement. Feeling a now familiar sensation, she did not bother to turn around. She knew Theodorus was right behind her. “Come to challenge winter as well?”

“I think I will leave that to the others”, Theodorus answered.

“Scared?”, Sylvia taunted.

“I would like to see you jump”, Theodorus quipped back.

Sylvia laughed. “No thank you.”

When Afi was back on dry land, a woman draped a blanket around him and sent him on his way. Returning to Sylvia's side, he was shivering already.

“Go back and get changed before you catch a cold”, Sylvia said.

“I will wait for you”, Afi said.

“Do not be silly. Go”, Sylvia encouraged.

Afi shot Theodorus a warning glare and picked up his sword. When he had left, Theodorus stepped just a little closer to Sylvia, close enough for his cloak to bunch up against her shoulder.

“He does not like me very much, does he?”

“He is protective”, Sylvia defended.

Theodorus nodded. “And for good reason.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. A beautiful woman like you with a flirtatious man like me…”

Sylvia turned her head and raised her eyebrows at him. “Is this what you call flirting?”

Theodorus laughed heartedly. “Ouch. Maybe you do not need protection after all.”

Sylvia swatted at him and he began laughing anew.

Back at the inn, Afi changed out of his wet clothes and hung them over a chair to dry. Taking a seat downstairs, he asked for something warm and Frida gave him a hot spiced ale. Afi hummed in delight at the burning sensation in his throat. The inn slowly began to fill as more people returned from the harbour. A woman tugged at Afi’s sleeve. She reeked of alcohol, and leaned onto the table with a much too relaxed smile on her lips.

“That’d be my blanket”, she said.

“Oh. Right.” Afi let it fall off his shoulders and folded it in two. “Here. Thank you for lending it to me.”

“Any day, Handsome”, the woman smiled.

Afi smiled awkwardly and averted his gaze.

The woman did not take the hint. She leaned further onto the table to get his attention.

“You are a silent type, hm?”

“I guess”, Afi mumbled.

The woman hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt and tugged to get a view of his chest. “Let us have some fun.”

“I am not interested”, Afi stated. He brushed her off before she could get a glimpse of his brand.

The woman pressed in on him and put her hand back on his neck. “I will do whatever you want. I will suck your dick.”

“No thank you.”

Taking her hand, Afi removed it from his collar. She resisted the effort and Afi had to force her hand off him. As soon as he had freed himself from her grip, Afi got out of his chair and fled outside. Hurrying across the yard, he stopped by the corner of the inn. He gasped for breath. His heart was racing. He felt like he was shaking. Looking down at his hands, he saw that he was not. At least not on the outside. He ran a hand over his collar. He could almost feel her unwanted fingers on his neck, still lingering. He rubbed over the spot to chase the sensation away. A hand landed on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Are you alright?”, Tone asked.

“I am fine”, Afi lied.

Tone leaned back against the wall of the inn. A few snowflakes gathered in his hair. He looked up at the grey sky with a soft smile brightening his face. “Beautiful, is it not?”

“The snow?”

“Yea. It is like tiny glittering stars falling from the sky. The first time I saw it, I was halfway convinced that they are tiny shooting stars”, Tone said wistfully. “But then I saw them melt to water”, he chuckled.

“You do not have snow across the ocean?”

“Not where I lived at least.” Tone drew his eyes from the scenery to explore Afi’s face. “Do you like it? The winter?”

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“No. The ice here is too quiet.”

“Too quiet?”, Tone repeated.

Afi nodded. “Up north the ice sings to the stars. You can hear it all across Norrsko on a clear night, whispering among the trees. When you find a lake, it calls out to you, booming and deep. It is a beautiful sound, much more beautiful than the stars.”

“Do stars sing as well?”, Tone asked.

Afi frowned at him. “How would a star make a sound?”

Tone shrugged. “How does ice?”

“That is different”, Afi scoffed.

Tone looked back at him blankly for a long moment. He frowned to himself before coming to a conclusion and shaking his head. “I am not mocking you. I am merely curious. I have never heard of singing ice before.”

Relaxing his shoulders, Afi looked up at the falling snow. “It is the cold. It feeds the ice. When a lake freezes, it grows. As it does not fit in its bed any more, it breaks, creaks and booms. It is a song of shifting ice and earth. It has to be really cold in the early winter. Only then will the ice sing among the trees. Ice shimmers like stars, but stars cannot sing.”

Nodding, Tone looked out over the monochrome scenery again. “It sounds magical.”

“It is.” Afi drew a deep breath and sighed. “The silence here is deafening.”

“I quite like it. It sounds like summer when the sun reaches its zenith and everything sleeps. Only humans keep being noisy.”

Afi hummed a little. “Well, at least the days are longer here.”

That got a giggle out of Tone. “Really? It is so dark in winter.”

“In Norrsko you can be happy about four hours of light during Midwinter.”

“I am glad I stayed further south than that.”

“Curious that Nordborg can be considered south”, Afi commented.

“Names hold truths, but they are relative truths”, Tone philosophised.

“I suppose so.”

Silence stretched its wings between Afi and Tone, before settling pleasantly. They stood there in its presence long enough for the cold to creep into their bones. First when his body threatened to start shivering did Tone speak anew.

“Are you sure you are alright after that?”

“After what?”, Afi dismissed the topic.

Tone came just a little closer, his eyes fixed on Afi’s face. “She assaulted you.”

Afi shrugged. Silence sat between them, feathers pillowed up to protect it from the biting cold. There was no comfort left in its presence.

Sighing, Afi gave in. “It is hardly the worst that I have seen.”

“That does not make it better”, Tone pointed out.

“No”, Afi admitted. “But it means I do not intend to lament the fact.”

“That is your choice to make.”

Meeting Tone’s eyes, Afi continued, “It is not going to follow me to bed, if that is what you are worried about. I will be okay.”

“I am glad to hear it. Just know that you are not alone.” Taking a moment to assess if that was all he had to say on the topic, Tone nodded to himself. “And you are not the only stranger in this city, either”, he added, before turning his head toward the inviting door of the inn.

Afi shook his head and bared his teeth in a forced smile. “Let us go before your nose turns entirely blue.”

Tone reached up to feel his nose. Clapping him on the shoulder, Afi walked back inside.

To his great relief, the drunken woman was nowhere to be seen. Frida gave him a knowing nod and provided a few leftover pickles. Ritva herself served Afi a new hot ale. “Wolf or not, no one misbehaves in my inn”, she declared.

Afi chose not to say anything to it. He simply took a seat near the stairs and tried his best to forget about the entire thing. Tone proved to be a helpful distraction, and a seasoned storyteller.

Sylvia returned not much later with Theodorus, Ida, and Una. The rest of the inner circle was not far behind, either. They sat down together, all chatting excitedly.

When the inn was packed, Yri led them to song, and before long there was a merry commotion. They sang of love, of bittersweet lust and elated foolish youth. They sang of hunger, of loss and pain. They told stories, and drank until their words slurred and their cheeks were red. When it all became too much, Sylvia looked around for Frida. To her great disappointment, Frida was already preoccupied. Yri had an arm slung around Frida’s waist and kept nudging Frida’s cheek with the tip of her nose. Sylvia played with the rim of her cup. She doubted it was okay for her to sneak into the cellar on her own. It would not be particularly enjoyable, either way. Frida was a wonderful friend and an undeniably talented lover. In contrast to Klara, however, she had a plethora of women available to her and no reason to wait around for Sylvia. Having no better option, Sylvia left the inn.

A cold breeze prickled over her skin as soon as she stepped outside. Tightening her jacket around her waist, she dragged her feet through the snow. It was starting to pile up again. Watching her feet, she listened for the crunch. It was loud in the solitude of night. The roads were nearly empty now. Laughter echoed from surrounding buildings. Families and friends gathered and sang the night away arm in arm. But all the festivities were muffled. Only the crunching of snow under her boots was crisp and clear. With all the light pooling from windows along the street, Sylvia did not even need a lantern. She wondered if it was snowing over Nyberg, if the bones were covered in ice.

As a child, her father would carry her on his shoulders while they ploughed though the deep snow on Midwinter. Her mother would lead on, carrying the lantern. Everyone would gather at the AriIngemar estate. There would be rice pudding and apple sauce, buttered roots, and plenty of sweet rolls with nuts and dried fruit. This was the first time she spent Midwinter alone. Almost alone. She knew that she had a family here in Fristad. She knew that she belonged, but in this moment she felt profoundly alone.

The smell of spiced wine wafted through the air and Sylvia sighed deeply. Looking up, she realised that she had arrived at the library. There was no light in the upstairs window. Surely Dana was drinking with the rest, or avoiding the festivities altogether and sleeping already. Sylvia had no intentions of disturbing him. Turning to the stables instead, she decided to pay Natta a visit.

Finding Natta in his usual box, Sylvia opened the door and ruffled through the black mane. Natta nickered affectionately. Sylvia leaned against his side, enjoying the warmth of the calm animal. Natta did not have anyone either, did he? He was separated from his mother at a young age, and his father never paid much attention to him. Did he even know that his father was in the box next to his all those years? Did he miss his parents? Did animals care about these things? Probably on some level.

At the sound of footfalls, Sylvia spun around. A stablehand stood in the hallway. She seemed just as surprised as Sylvia to find someone else here at this hour. She swiftly pulled her hands behind herself and straightened her back. But for the rosy hue on her cheeks, she appeared sober.

“My apologies. I did not think anyone would be by. Do you require assistance saddling your horse?”

“No, thank you”, Sylvia dismissed the offer.

Of course the stablehand did not expect anyone. It would be foolish to ride out in this weather. It was too snowy to make headway with a cart, and not snowy enough to use a sled. Riding solo was always foolish.

Sylvia watched the stablehand for a long moment. There was something eerie in the air. Long dark curls draped over the woman’s broad shoulders. Her thick tunic was bound with a simple leather belt, and her boots went all the way up to her knees. She looked much like Rebecca did whenever she came to the stables, when they met in the outskirts of the village to “go for a ride”. Or perhaps like an older version of Rebecca. Walking over to the stablehand, Sylvia held out her hand, and the stablehand lowered her head in shame before producing the bottle she had stolen from the cellars. Inspecting the flask, Sylvia realised it was but a cheap bitterleaf ferment.

“You do not have her taste, though.”

“Sorry?”, the stablehand asked.

Sylvia brought the mouth of the bottle to her lips and took a generous swing. Frowning deeply, she fought the biting bitterness and swallowed hard. The viscous brew left a burning, dry sensation in her throat. “I never liked alcohol very much. I never saw the point of it. It dulls the mind”, she commented.

“It keeps the cold at bay”, the stablehand said.

“Fair enough”, Sylvia agreed. She took another gulp and handed the bottle back. It did bring a little colour back to her cheeks, and allowed the tips of her fingers to defrost. “But there are much more enjoyable ways to keep the heat.”

Smiling broadly, the stablehand nodded, “Also very true.”

That night in the stables, Sylvia learned three things. The first was that the stablehand she met was no woman. The second was that, contrary to popular belief, a man’s hands felt no different from those of a woman. The third was that this particular man had no idea how to make use of his. Still, the distraction was pleasant, and when Sylvia returned to her room, she slipped into a deep slumber.

Sylvia walked barefoot across familiar mossy ground. Rounding a large black boulder, she found the silverwood tree at the heart of the woods. Among its roots sat her beloved Rebecca. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, she waited. A silver shimmer danced over her skin like starlight. Inhaling deeply, Sylvia drew her eyes away from Rebecca's broken leg, and stepped out into the dancing light. Rebecca lifted her head and smiled her beautiful smile.

“There you are, My Love.”

Her voice carried through the woods as easily as that of the distant river, rushing with fresh spring water from the mountain. Sylvia approached slowly and kneeled down right in front of her. After all these nights, she still looked just the same. Her green eyes were shimmering with youthful joy, whereas Sylvia knew her own had lost their gleam.

“I miss you.”

Rebecca nodded. “I know.”

Reaching out, Sylvia stroked a hand over Rebecca's strong thigh. The skin under her fingers felt as smooth and warm as she remembered it. But she knew for a fact that Rebecca was long gone.

“Too bad this is not real.”

“Define real”, Rebecca retorted.

“You are just as insufferable in memories as you were in life.”

Rebecca laughed, her voice as loud and booming as ever. “And you are just as rude.” She leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Sylvia's lips. Running a hand through Sylvia's curls, she hummed. “You went ahead and cut your hair after all.”

Sylvia was tired of having the same conversation again. She merely nodded and dove in for more of those soft lips. A hand at the nape of Rebecca’s neck, she opened her mouth to taste the familiar sweet milk and honey of her beloved. She welcomed the warm tongue pressing against her own. Urging one of her knees between the strong legs, she stroked her hand up and pressed her thumb into the plump inner thigh until she heard Rebecca draw for breath.

Another shimmer danced over Rebecca's skin. Even in the shadows created between their bodies, the shimmer prevailed. Eyeing the tree above them, Sylvia saw the same effect play across the bark. The tree had been whispered. That was new. Whatever memory had mixed itself into this one, Sylvia was not about to let it ruin her night.

Watching the gorgeous green eyes flutter shut in anticipation, Sylvia traced her fingers over the soft labia. Dipping between the folds, she wet her fingers and brought them up to caressed Rebecca's clitoris. Rebecca tilted her head back, her long hair falling off her shoulders and baring them entirely. Her legs parted further and she arched her back, pressing her naked chest against Sylvia's own.

While rubbing circles, and on occasion diving her fingers into Rebecca's body, Sylvia let her mouth find the sensitive skin under Rebecca's ear. Nipping softly and listening to the delighted moans, she too closed her eyes. Keeping them firmly shut, she made her way down to Rebecca's neck and let her lips explore the broad scar running across the exposed throat. First when she had her nose right under Rebecca's chin did she change course. She hunched her back to capture and tease Rebecca's perky nipples, rolling them between her lips and flicking her tongue until an impatient grunt gave her the cue to move on.

Sylvia lay down on her stomach among the soft moss. She urged Rebecca to shift her hips forward, and spread her legs wide so Sylvia had complete access to her vulva. Running her fingers over the slick labia, she licked her lips. Laying the erect clitoris bare, she pressed a kiss to it and inhaled the familiar scent of her beloved Rebecca. Easing a finger into Rebecca's body, Sylvia nipped and licked at the sensitive bud while she coaxed the orgasm out of Rebecca in a beckoning motion.

Rebecca moaned, her voice echoing among the trees. Her legs quivered, then tensed. Her fingers clawed at Sylvia’s shoulders and upper back. The green eyes were fixed on Sylvia in awe. The dancing shimmer of the whisperwood tree reflected in them, until they closed in a series of high-pitched shrieks of pleasure. It was the sweetest sound known to Sylvia. Sweeter even, and more comforting still, than the song of the blackbird. It was everything Sylvia ever wanted to hear at night.