Winter Curse

Elara

Snow had fallen nearly every day for as long as I could remember.

Each morning, the rooftops of our little village disappeared beneath a fresh blanket of white, whilst the wind howled through the narrow streets and found its way through every crack in our humble cottage. Winter was no stranger to our kingdom, yet this year, it seemed to have settled upon us with a bitterness unlike any before.

I drew my woolen cloak more tightly around my shoulders as I made my way along the village road. Beneath my boots, the snow gave a soft crunch, and smoke curled lazily from the chimneys above. A horse and carriage passed in the distance, its wheels struggling through the frozen slush.

“Elara!”

At the sound of my mother's voice, I turned.

She stood in the doorway of our cottage, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “Do not wander too far into the woods. The weather is turning.”

“I shall not,” I called back.

She narrowed her eyes at me.

I smiled sweetly. “I mean it this time.”

My mother sighed, though I caught the faintest hint of a smile upon her face.

“Be home before nightfall.”

“Yes, Mother.”

With that, I turned and continued toward the forest, my basket swinging gently at my side.

I had been sent to gather firewood. Nothing more.

And yet, before the sun had disappeared beyond the snow-covered hills, I would discover something I had only heard of in whispered stories and frightening old legends.

Something the world believed had vanished many years ago.

A dragon.

Not a single soul had seen one in years. There were only stories—stories of how terrifying they were, how murderous and merciless. Mothers told their children tales of dragons to frighten them into obedience, whilst old men in the village spoke of them in hushed voices, as though merely uttering the word might summon one from the sky.

A soft crunch sounded beneath my feet as I continued along the path. The snow had seeped through my footwear, leaving my toes cold and damp—something I greatly despised. My fingers had long since begun to freeze, despite the warmth of my gloves. Snow was never forgiving. It crept into every crack and crevice, biting at one's skin with its unforgiving cold.

And yet, it was endless.

It stretched beyond the village, beyond the forest, and across the kingdom itself, covering everything in a blanket of white.

I drew my cloak tighter around my shoulders and continued down the narrow path, my basket hanging from my arm. Mother had sent me into the forest to gather what little firewood I could find, though I had begun to wonder whether she had sent me there simply to test how long I could endure the cold.

The thought brought the faintest smile to my lips.

It did not last long.

A gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it a flurry of snow that struck against my face. I lowered my head and pressed onward.

The forest was not far from the village, yet in winter, it always seemed a different place entirely. The branches stretched high above me, bare and twisted, their limbs heavy with snow. There were no birds singing, no leaves rustling in the breeze.

Only silence.

I had always disliked that part.

In the village, there was always some sort of sound. Children playing in the streets, horses pulling carriages along the road, the ringing of the blacksmith's hammer. Even on the coldest of days, there were voices.

But here, amongst the trees, there was nothing.

I stopped beside a fallen branch and bent to pick it up, brushing away the snow before placing it into my basket.

One branch.

Then another.

And another.

Before long, my basket had begun to grow heavier.

“Perhaps I shall return home before Mother begins to wonder where I have gone,” I murmured to myself.

Just as I straightened, a sound echoed through the forest.

I froze.

It was faint.

So faint that, for a moment, I wondered if I had imagined it.

A crack.

My eyes moved slowly toward the trees ahead.

The wind had stopped.

The forest had fallen completely still.

I held my breath.

Another crack sounded.

This one was louder.

I tightened my grip upon the basket.

“Who's there?”

My voice disappeared into the silence.

No answer came.

Of course, I told myself. Why would there be?

Yet I could not bring myself to move.

Then, from somewhere deeper within the forest, came a low sound.

Not quite a growl.

Not quite anything I had ever heard before.

And suddenly, the stories of dragons did not seem quite so foolish.