The snow was relentless. Each flake seemingly innocent, drifting absently to the floor. Until they came too quickly, joined by the hip they fell from the clouds in spades. Raven tightened her cloak, shaky fingers desperately finding purchase between buttons as she grasped the wet fabric around her pale body tighter. Each step up this godforsaken place was its own battle. A battle she was losing she thought bitterly, as she willed her legs to trudge forward another step.

This had been a mistake. All she had needed was 15 leaves of Fluxroot to fulfill her first order in months. Although eating the natural greens of the forest was enlightening...their taste left much to be desired. She had needed money for some more appetizing food. So, she had packed her potion brewery materials in a bag and set off. What good that had gotten her. Surprisingly, getting the Fluxroot wasn’t the issue, it was finding her way back down that got her into this mess. By the time she had collected a sufficient amount the snowstorm set in.

Dazedly, Raven realised she had stopped moving. Her legs stuck firmly between a fresh level of snow. Exhaustion enveloped her body, seeping into the very depth of her bones. It was actually feeling a bit warmer now. Maybe she’d be okay after all. A soft huff of a chuckle escaped her lips, the warm air creating a whisp in front of her. She deserved a rest, didn’t she? Satisfied with her decision, she embraced the tiredness waving over her as she closed her eyes to welcome the dark.

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Warmth caressed Raven’s face. Was the afterlife filled with warmth such as this, she mused. Raven sighed into the warmth, until it continued its caress. Now wet and slippery. What in Aldere’s name was that. Her eyes started open, and she was met with a stubby cat’s green eyes boring into her.

Blearily, Raven’s eyes wandered. Someone had found her, she realised tiredly. She lay curled in blankets next to a person’s fireplace. Finding herself comfortable, she let her eyes wander. The room was messily kept. With books towering in every nook and cranny. It felt as if any flat surface had a book or paper atop of it. Writing materials and curious jars aligned each shelf. The smell of paper, ink and the forest emanated from the home’s very being.

The flickering flame of the fireplace sent warmth back into her bones, and she inched closer desperate for more heat. The cat which had been observing her leapt back with a hiss, scampering off into the house.

A hoarse voice called out in response, chuckling at the cat’s frantic movements “Ah, it appears our guest has awoken Amaranth”. Raven focused her bleary eyes toward the source of the sound, as her rescuer came into view.

The man was pale. With delicate skin and kind blue eyes. Wrinkles that told of life and joy peppered the man’s face, tightening once he smiled. The most striking, Raven noted, was his pointed ears. He was an elf, and an aged one at that. She had never even heard of an elf old enough for age to show on his features.

He came closer, “Here, you’ll probably want some food in you” he thought aloud as he sent a wave of magic placing a mug down next to her. He spoke slowly, and deliberately. Waiting for recognition she’d understood to cross her features before speaking again.

"A personal blend,” he offered, as she observed its green colour “it should help”. Raven went to speak but felt her mouth clench in dryness. She instead nodded, hoping her face looked thankful as she grasped the mug in her hands and drank. God she was thirsty.

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“Careful,” he called creakily, “you don’t want to upset your stomach”. He walked labouredly back out of the room, returning with a floating tray of steaming soup and bread. Weary hands motioned the tray to move delicately on a table next to her. She nodded once more in thanks before (slowly this time) eating.

The elf ambled over to an armchair, picking up a book while he waited for her to finish. The room soon filled with the tranquil noises of soft eating the occasional pages being turned. Eventually Raven felt able to speak, “Thank you, sir” she began, lifting his attention from his book “I wouldn’t be here if not for your help”.

He simply looked at her with a serene look on his face, eyes glinting as he smiled. “Dear child, I am simply glad you are safe.” He paused, before asking “How do you feel now, little one”. Raven smiled; she hadn’t been called little for many years. “Much better with some food in me Mr...”

“Ah! You must pardon my rudeness; you may call me Loriathan. How may I address you?”

“My name’s Raven," she mumbled softly feeling a wave of tiredness crash over her body. She muttered a quiet, “I’m sorry, I think I’m...” before drifting into a deep sleep once more.

In the light of the moon Loriathan plodded out of his armchair, bringing the now mostly empty tray out of the room before closing the door with a soft thump.

Days sprawled onwards. With Raven fading in and out of consciousness in bursts. Each time, a fresh bowl of food and fresh tea sat ready by her side. She ate as much as she could, but her hands struggled to grasp the spoon.

The two made sparse conversation. But Raven could barely keep herself lucid for most of it. She gathered he was a researcher of some sort. And had been out here for a long time. The dust that had settled into the deep corners of the home was a testament to that.

Amaranth tended to stay by her side mostly. Probably enjoying the warmth of the fire more than her company, but Raven was glad for it nonetheless. She had a feeling Amaranth was just shy. Or too proud to admit they were becoming friends.

The kindness of Amaranth and Loriathan felt almost jarring after the quiet despair she had felt in the snow. Looking back, she felt shocked at how quickly she had simply accepted her demise. A product of a slower-running mind, Loraithan had explained. Yet it still felt...wrong. She felt herself shiver even in the warmth of Loriathan’s house during the nights.

Looking out towards the window and at the snow had felt too hard to bear at the start. A constant reminder of her moment of utter weakness. She had wanted to close the blinds, barring the memory from her grasp. But Loriathan had suggested against it. He spoke patiently, with care resounding every syllable he spoke.

“Child,” he had said, even though she had reminded him he was an adult in human years, “if you truly wish to erase all snow from your life I cannot stop you. But snow will remain for all of time, if you succumb to your horrors they will hold you. Even after you have escaped the snow, it will live on in you forever.” He paused; brows lowered in concern “I do not wish such a life for you”.

So, she kept the window open. She stared into the snow. Urging it to bite back at her. She was safe, she realised in these walls. Challenging the elements felt manageable with company.

Loriathan was patient. A perk of his age, she assumed. She had asked him, when she had felt better, why he helped her. “It must’ve been difficult,” she reasoned, “to carry an adult body back with you to your home. Even with magic”. He had looked at her gently, taking time to consider before responding. “When one lives for so long,” he paused looking listlessly out the window, “you can afford more time for others”.

She had smiled at that. To think, such a kind-hearted soul was living his days in the middle of nowhere. Conducting his magical research with his sole companion, a black cat.

And so, the days passed. Each morning Loriathan would greet her with reverence, “It is ever a pleasure to see that you have awoken with the dew once more, lady Raven. Shall we eat?”.

Each day brought a new elegantly phrased greeting, and each time Raven couldn’t help the grin that crossed her face.