The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Winter in the Wood was never kind. This one in particular, however, seemed worse than many prior. At least, it was for Mattew Mouldboard. To him, the snow fell heavier; the wind bit deeper; and his bones thawed slower.

But there was more to it than that. This was his first winter alone on his late father’s measly parcel and it had not been easy. He had taken for granted how much his father had done to make their meager life a bit more bearable. Now, being only one pair of hands, everything just seemed to take longer. Chopping a pile of wood seemed insurmountable. Tying rushes into make-shift thatching in effort to keep the dampness out of the house just didn’t work as well. Preparing dinner was basically pointless given the consistently poor outcome.

He missed his father.

He wiped a tear from his cheek before it threatened to freeze. The motion was followed by a quick, sharp exhale as he tried to expel his grief through the thick cloud of fog of his breath.

He needed to check the traps if he wished to eat something more than unseasoned radish pottage. He stood slowly, his cold joints acting more like a man in his 60s than a boy of just 17. He pulled his cloak a bit tighter about him and then exited his home, walking west into the day’s fading light. As his tattered boots crunched through the mix of ice and snow, he lifted a gloveless hand to his face. He wrapped his fingers around his nose, trying to keep it warm. Then, when his fingers couldn’t handle it anymore, he shoved them into his armpits. He hunkered his head down into his shoulders as much as possible, trying to avoid the wind that seemed to cut at his ears like small daggers.

He followed the path that he had walked countless times before -- over a small knoll to where the treeline butted up against his narrow plot. He didn’t bother leaning down to look at the first of his small rabbit snares. It sat empty in the snow. His only reaction was to turn and move on toward the next. Nearly thirty minutes of walking and checking later he was at the furthest reach of his land and at the ninth of the ten snares that he had set. This one, like the others, was empty. He had only one more hope for meat – his tenth snare.

The tenth snare was an illegal one. It was not set on the border of his lands like the others. His tenth was placed in the woods beyond his parcel in the lands of Lord Hawkesbury. Mattew knew that, if the snare were ever found and discovered to be his, he would likely be put into the Myrken Gaol. But the winter had been hard and desperation sometimes overruled sense.

The southeastern border of the Mouldboard plot that separated it from the Amesbury Estate was defined by a small creek just inside the treeline. Unfortunately, cloaked by fading light and heavy snow, the creek was hidden from view. Knowing that it was near, Mattew stopped. He wrapped his hands around a dead branch and snapped it from its source. Then, after taking a moment to huff an inefficient amount of warmth into his hands, he began to poke the snow with the branch, searching for the hidden brook buried within.

As he prodded, he heard the soft, lulling tune of a songbird carried upon the wind from the other side of the invisible creek. He paused, surprised by hearing a warm, happy song in the heart of winter; especially from a bird that should have long since migrated away from the Wood at this time of year.

Without giving it another thought, he continued to poke the snow with the branch. Eventually his stick met with ice and cracked through to the frigid water beneath. Although he hadn’t crossed the creek at this exact point before, based on his memory of the waterway, he estimated that it was about a pace wide at the most. He was confident in his ability to jump it. He tossed the branch aside and stepped back putting distance between the hidden creek and himself.

The sound of the songbird grew louder.

He took a quick intake of breath, the cold air stinging his lungs, preparing himself for the jump.

More songbirds joined the first. It was as if an entire choir of songbirds had gathered in the trees across the way and were cheering him along in his effort to clear the water.

He sprinted toward the hidden waterway. His feet were slowed by the snow, but he moved as quickly as he could.

The songbirds began to sound less like birds and more like musical instruments, playing a lively jig.

When he reached the point where he thought the water started, he leapt.

Was there laughter in the wind? Revelers enjoying the festive music?

His feet connected with the snow and sunk in, catching slightly, causing him to roll forward into his front. His hands, trying to brace the impact, also sunk into the snow, meaning his body and face were responsible for stopping his forward momentum. He rolled over onto his back in a mix of pain and wanting to get his face out of the frozen pillow of snow. Cold, reddened hands went to his eyes, brushing the straggling snow from his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

Mattew opened his eyes and sat up with a start. His eyes immediately came to rest on the source of the question. A woman. No. More than that. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was the color of dandelion, her skin as white as the snow, her eyes a gentle lavender, her lips were rose petals. She was simply an angel.

“Are you alright,” she asked again, smiling down at him. Her voice was like that of the songbird’s. It was gentle and soothing. The music and laughter echoed behind her.

“Y-yes, I’m alright,” he managed to reply.

“You must be so very cold. Would you like to join us? Just until you get warm again?”

Although it was difficult to pry his eyes from her beauty, he looked behind her. He saw nothing but dark wood. As far as he knew, there were no buildings nearby. Amesbury Estate was nearly a mile away from where they stood, if not further. “Us? I don’t see anyone else.”

The woman’s smile grew. “You’re sweet.” She reached her hand out to him, offering to help him up from the snow. “Join us. There is a fire, food, music, and dancing, oh such lovely dancing!”

Although the woman’s beauty made him nervous, he could not resist the desire to touch her. His cold hand reached up and took her warm one. Her skin was like silk and it sent a shock of desire through him. He rose to his feet and realized that she was nearly as tall as he. Her eyes were bewitching.

“Come,” she said with a smirk. She then turned and walked toward a small hill. He followed her, transfixed by the way her body moved beneath her dress in the fading daylight. As they crested the hill, there came into view a small clearing and at its center was a large tree. At the base of the tree was an opening clearly lit by firelight. It was from here that the music and laughter lilted.

The woman walked up to the tree and bent over slightly to slide inside of the lit entrance. Mattew paused just outside. Looking inside, he saw a staircase that led into the ground. And at the base of the staircase was a giant banquet hall. There were countless people inside dressed in the finest garments. Men and women, each more beautiful than the last, sat at tables laden with food. A large band played music before a large opening where dancers twirled to the music. It was an impossibly luxurious hall buried within the hillside.

Mattew shook his head in awe. “What is this place?”

The woman with snow white skin smiled again, “This is Eversong. Will you dance with me?” Again, she offered her hand.

Mattew slid his hand into hers. “Who are you,” he asked in wonderment.

“I am Dauði. You will like it here.”

Without another word the pair descended into the sídhe and were enveloped by the merriment within the mound.