Iris walks ahead of me, her breath misting in the cold air, chattering about the specific types of evergreens we need. "Pinefor protection, obviously. Cedar for purification. Holly for... I forget what holly is for, but it's pretty, so that's enough."
"Holly represents eternal life," I hear myself say. "The red berries symbolize blood and sacrifice. It was used in old winter rituals."
She turns to look at me, eyes bright. "See? You know things. Useful, non-violent things."
"I know many things. Most of them involve optimal methods for killing."
"And you also know about holly. " She reaches up to touch a low-hanging pine branch, snow cascading down onto her hair. "How far do we need to go for good boughs?"
"Not far. There's a grove about a quarter mile ahead where the trees are dense. Better quality."
We walk in comfortable silence, and I find myself watching her instead of scanning for threats. The way she pauses to examine interesting frost patterns on bark. The way she hums under her breath, some tune I half-remember from centuries ago. The way she moves through the forest without fear, like she belongs here.
She doesn't belong here. This forest has teeth. But she doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps she simply doesn't care.
"There," I point ahead to where a cluster of pines stands thick with boughs. "Those will work."
"Perfect!" She hurries forward, and I follow, hyperaware of the way the wind is picking up. The storm is moving faster than I anticipated.
We should be quick.
We are not quick.
Iris approaches evergreen gathering with the same chaotic intensity she brings to cooking. She wants the perfect branches. The ones with the best needle coverage, the most aesthetic shape, the exact right shade of green.
"This one?" She holds up a branch.
"It's adequate."
"Just adequate? We can do better than adequate." She drops it and reaches for another. "What about this one?"
"Also adequate."
"Cadeon, you're not helping."
"I'm preventing you from taking every branch in the forest. That is helping."
She makes a face at me, and I feel something warm flicker through the bond: amusement, affection, the golden feeling I'm learning to associate with her happiness.
The snow is falling harder now. Faster. The wind is already biting.
"Iris. We need to go. Now."
"Just one more." She reaches for a high branch, stretching on her toes. "I want something for the mantle."
The wind howls, sudden and vicious. Snow whips around us in a blinding white wall.
I'm beside her in an instant, pulling her against me. "We're going back. Now."
"I can't... hmm... I can't see." Her voice is muffled by the wind and snow. "Which way is the cottage?"
"I know the way. Trust me." I pull her tight against my side, one arm around her shoulders. "Stay close. Don't let go."
"I won't." She's already shivering, and we've only been in this for moments. Her coat is not adequate for this. Nothing short of thick furs would be adequate for this.
I can barely see three feet ahead, but I don't need to see. I've walked these woods for two centuries. I know every tree,every path, every depression in the ground. And more than that, I can feel the cottage. The wards call to me, a magnetic pull, impossible to ignore.
And I can feel her through the bond. Her fear. Her cold. Her trust that I'll get us home safely.
