Firal had never seen snow; not the natural sort, anyway. All mages had to practice creating ice at some point, so clumps of snowflakes and pellets of ice were not so foreign as to be mysterious, but the idea of it falling from the sky was still strange.

Other islands might have had enough elevation to yield snow on the mountaintops, but Elenhiise was nearly flat. She’d never been anywhere cooler than a cave, which made it all the more difficult to imagine snowfall. But she wondered, sometimes, looking out her window.

The gardens outside were lush, glittering with droplets in the lull between rainstorms. This was the only shift in seasons she’d ever known, subtle changes in temperature that came with the rainy season.

“Will you be joining us for the solstice tonight, or will you be doing something on your own?” Kytenia tempered the hope in her voice. She waited beside the door, smoothing her mageling robes with both hands.

Firal hesitated, glancing back out the window. It wasn’t that she disliked attending festivities with her friends and classmates, she simply preferred to do things on her own. The winter solstice was a day for reverence, after all, and she found it easier to be reverent when she wasn’t surrounded by people laughing and chattering. She didn’t begrudge them for enjoying themselves, but she and her friends often found enjoyment in different things.

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said at last, doing her best to smile.

Kytenia beamed. “Oh, I’m so glad! I still have to find what the others are doing, but I’ll find you when the candle-lighting begins.”

“All right. I’ll look forward to it.” Firal dipped her head in a farewell as her best friend slid out into the dormitory hallway and closed the door. Then she turned back to her desk, staring at the books before her.

She’d been studying, but only because she thought she’d be stealing away for privacy that night. If she’d be attending the ceremonies in the courtyard instead, there was no sense in waiting for the smaller ritual she’d had in mind. Pushing back her chair, she rose and crept to the small chest at the foot of her bed, digging inside for the small box of things she’d gathered over the past several weeks.

Master Nondar had told her what the solstice was like on the mainland. He’d told her about years there had been snow and years there was not, years where the moon was full and years where the sky was empty. Most of all she’d enjoyed his descriptions of the trees, aglow with mage-lights for remembrance and honor.

She didn’t have a tree, or even a branch. Instead Firal drew a paper from the small box and unfolded a drawing of a fir tree, which she’d done under Nondar’s direction, laying it on the window sill. She drew the shutters and sat the box atop her desk, drawing things out one by one.

An acorn, to ask for growth.

A chip of iron, to ask for strength.

Dried fruit, to ask for health.

A vial of earth, to remember her origins.

And a small garnet, still rough, infused with power in the palm of her hand, glowing bright as a mage-light as she laid it on the drawing, at the very peak of the tree. A gemstone for new beginnings; red for the connection of blood.

“Every path in life is the branch of a tree,” Firal murmured, arranging her tokens on the paper, turning the garnet so its best defined corner aligned with the top. It meant nothing, it simply made it more pleasant to look at. “And every life is its fruit.”

She swallowed hard. “If I am given any blessings, Fathertree, let it be this.”

It didn’t seem too much to ask, and yet every year, it was the only blessing she really wanted.

A tree’s branches could cross every year.

Sooner or later, perhaps the branch of her life would cross with that of her family.

---

Today’s prompt was “A winter holiday.”

This is the last prompt I’ll be doing for a while, as I’ll be tackling much bigger projects at the turn of the year.

Thank you so much for taking this ride with me!

“You should have come, it was a lot of fun.” Vahn regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth.

His friend’s expression didn’t change, though. He just stayed with his back against the floor, twisting and turning the bottle he held overhead, watching the tiny seashells mixed with the glittering sand tumble against the inside of the glass. “It’s all right. I can’t swim, anyway.”

Vahn tried not to look at him, instead focusing on the way the glass and sand inside sparkled in the sunlight. Ran’s room was bright, the curtains on all the high windows drawn back. The room overlooked a garden in full bloom, but every time Vahn glanced out the windows,  he found himself squinting and wondering if the gleam in the distance was the sea, or just some trick of the light.

It had been an enjoyable trip with the rest of the boys, all of them the children of guardsmen, but every expedition came with a twinge of guilt. Vahn was free to travel and explore.

Ran rarely left his room. When he did, it was only for guarded excursions to the temple, then right back again.

Sighing, Vahn picked at the laces on his boots. “Do you think they’ll ever let you out of their sight?”

“Soon.” Ran shrugged, sitting up, running a hand through his hair. “Father said that after my birthday, he’ll let me have some time to myself at the temple. He figures that’ll be safer than the city.”

“Don’t you want to see the city?” Vahn asked.

Ran snorted. “Of course I do.” He put the bottle on the floor beside him. “I just don’t know how I’d be able to see it without someone recognizing me. I’d get in trouble.”

“Because that’s ever stopped us before.” Grinning, Vahn leaned closer. “I bet nobody would recognize you if you weren’t wearing silk. And maybe if your hair was darker.”

Frowning, Ran turned toward the windows. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? There’s that old story about the lordling and the common boy trading places-”

“Your clothes wouldn’t fit me,” Ran interrupted. “I’m taller than you.”

“That will just make it more convincing! Poor kids don’t get new clothes every time they grow a little bit. Give me your shirt!” Vahn all but lunged after his friend, grabbing for the hem of his silk tunic.

“Hey!” Ran slapped his hands away, glaring. “I don’t need any help!”

“Well then take it off!” Unfastening buttons, Vahn shrugged out of his plain spun shirt, passing it over as Ran peeled his finer garment off overhead and offered it in trade. The silk tunic was much too long for him, and he laughed when he stood up and it reached halfway to his knees.

Ran pulled Vahn’s shirt on, pausing after he finished doing the buttons. The sleeves were a few inches short, leaving him looking at his arms with a frown.

“No problem,” Vahn said,  jumping up and trotting to the wardrobe. “If we wrap your arms in something, people might think you’re sick or injured and will give you more space. The farther away they are, the less likely it is they’ll recognize you.” He threw a linen undershirt to his friend before crossing to the desk, digging through bottles of ink.

Ran tore strips from the shirt, binding his hands and standing up. His pants were too fine to go with Vahn’s too-small shirt; he turned to the wardrobe, digging through the clothing inside until he found something more worn. Vahn nodded his approval at the choice, pouring ink into his hands.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Ran asked.

Before Vahn could reply, but not before he jammed his ink-covered hands into his best friend’s hair, the door opened.

The boys froze.

Ran’s nursemaid stopped in the doorway, her eyebrows rising.

Ink dripped down Ran’s forehead, falling onto a pile of fine clothing heaped around their ankles.

Coughing, Vahn stepped back. “Um… it seemed like a good idea.”

–

This week’s prompt was “Getting dressed.”

The lovely Megan Cutler addressed this prompt back in October.

Next week’s will be the last prompt I’ll be doing for a while, since I’ll be working on some bigger projects instead!

The winter air bit deep, no matter how many layers he wore. Everyone said he’d grow used to it, but as he adjusted the thick scarf wrapped so it just brushed his chin, Rune thought again of how he didn’t want to.

Snow was as marvelous as ever; he couldn’t deny the strange sense of wonder he felt when he watched it drift from the sky. But it was a nuisance on the ground, making travel difficult, making this trip far less pleasant than it should have been. Even in their fur and leather wrappings, his feet were as numb as his nose, making him long for the warmth of his homeland. It would be the rainy season now, filling the island with mist and mugginess, replenishing the shallow river in Core. Pulling his coat a little tighter, he tried not to think of the weather any more.

Not sharing his aversion, Rhyllyn tore past him, laughing as he ran into the field of virgin snow. The boy only made it a short distance before he tripped and tumbled, floundering in the powder that came halfway to his knees.

“So this is where the house will be?”

Rune glanced over his shoulder as the white-robed mage approached, rubbing her arms against the cold. Between her robes and the white hair that spilled from beneath her hood, she nearly disappeared in the snow. Only her face stood out, though even that was not so tan as it had been.

“Eventually,” Rune said, glancing back to where Rhyllyn rolled in the snow. “Though probably closer to the trees.”

“I suppose building will have to wait until spring. I’m sure he’ll be happy to have somewhere permanent to call home.” Alira rearranged the skirt of her robe as she settled beside him, following his gaze and chuckling. “All he needs now is a dog.”

Making a soft sound of displeasure in his throat, Rune rearranged the folds of his scarf again. “Do you think he’s happy?”

“What do you think?” Alira laughed, flicking her fingers toward the child. The boy rolled onto his back, swishing his arms and legs to leave a snow angel in the field.

Rune snorted. Stupid question. Rhyllyn would have found a way to be content no matter where he’d landed. “He’s not much like me, is he?”

Alira cocked her head. “Why? Because he’s happy?”

That wasn’t what he’d meant, but that she took it that way cut deep. He said nothing, casting her a baleful glance from the corner of his eye instead.

Unfazed, she shrugged and turned back to watching Rhyllyn play. “I think after everything he’s been through, the situation he’s in is the best he could hope for.”

“Even though-” Rune started.

Alira didn’t let him finish. “Yes, even though he’s different. He doesn’t suffer, you know that. He has some difficulty learning to hold a pen and the bards are always after him for damaging their drum skins and strings, but his life is good.” She gave him a sidewise glance.

“And carved by the reputation I made. I know.” Sighing, Rune stamped his feet in vain hope it would restore feeling to his toes. “But look at him. He’s so…”

“So what?”

He frowned at her, raising his gloved hands in frustration. “Innocent. He’s got a tender heart. He’s kind. Gentle.” Nothing like him. He was a monster in every sense.

Raising one thin white brow, Alira smirked.

Rune’s frown deepened to a scowl. “What?”

The question barely escaped his mouth before the snowball impacted the side of his head, clumps of snow slithering down inside his scarf, making him gasp and shudder.

“He also has a mischief streak a mile wide,” Alira giggled.

Rhyllyn crowed with laughter at his brother’s expression, spinning on his heel to run.

Clawing ice out of his collar, Rune gritted his teeth. “Well, well,” he growled, scooping two handfuls of snow from the ground and packing them together with a spark in his eye. “Maybe we have something in common!”

---

This week’s prompt was “We have something in common.”

You can read Megan’s response to this prompt on her blog.

I was the first. A miracle and a monster, a mistake that should have been learned from. By all accounts, I should have been the last.

Magic is a river. I was a child the first time I heard her say it, still learning to read, more interested in toys and nursemaid’s games than the lessons they put me through, but Father always said it was important. I didn’t forget any lessons; I resented them too much for that.

Other children had friends, other children played, other children walked the gardens without fearing they might be seen. Other children didn’t have to sit through hours of lectures and complicated drills.

Other children didn’t have magic.

Experience fed it like tributaries and, like a river, its current grew stronger with time. The flow of power is irreversible, and yet I find myself endlessly searching for someone—something—with enough might to turn back the current.

They stopped it instead and, when I sit and think of my charge, I think about the dam that holds my strength at bay.

I still recall the way she traced a stream through the condensation on her glass, the way she stared to make sure I was paying attention. All the droplets nearby flowed into it, feeding the rivulet, making it flow faster. She was the one who taught me they had nowhere else to go. So why, then, did she not stop with me?

Every class was a reminder of my shortcomings. Every meeting a reminder that, after all the effort she’d poured into me, I was a disappointment. It didn’t matter what I learned, what I excelled at, or even that I was—all that mattered was the skin I was born into, the one she gave me, the one she made with flaws she faulted me for.

She should have known there was no point in trying again. The path was carved with me and I should have been the end.

He shouldn’t have the same curse, the boy asleep upstairs; it’s not his fault he was pulled into the river, buried beneath the waves of power, turned into something beyond his control. Were there anything right in the world, this wouldn’t be his burden to share.

But I was the first, so I know what he’ll face. I can’t stand against the current, but if nothing else, I can teach him to tread water. If nothing else, he won’t be like me.

He’ll never be alone.

---

This week’s prompt was “I was the first.”

Megan has provided her own prompt this week, which you can read here: Solving Conflicts with Cookies.