Page 13 of A Winter Admire

He continued picking berries. He stayed out longer than normal. He should go back. But if he stayed a little longer, he might see Sinoe. He stopped picking berries. He pulled out his notebook and looked at the pages. He didn’t know what he was doing flicking through the pages, but he didn’t want to leave just yet. What if Sinoe was close by?

He put the notebook away and continued collecting berries.

Soon after, his fingers trembled with the cold. He’d stayed out too long. He glanced around one more time, but there was still no sign of Sinoe. Disappointed, he began the walk back towards the village.

ChapterEleven

His feet dragged through the snow.

Why wasn’t Sinoe there today? Perhaps he was busy or just had something more important to do. Or maybe he’d met someone more interesting than Edwin.

Even though he had told himself Sinoe couldn’t possibly be his Solstice gift giver, in the back of his mind, Edwin had held on to a sliver of hope. And perhaps he’d wished Sinoe would be waiting for him in the forest, ready to declare his feelings for Edwin.

He touched his coat, over the place where the gift lay, and told himself he was silly to be disappointed.

He’d known it could never be Sinoe.

The excitement that had filled him that morning had dissipated by the time he reached his village. But when he returned home to his cabin and removed his coat, he pulled out the flower from his coat pocket. He gazed at the beautiful pale-blue colour, and the disappointment in him disappeared.

Someone had given this to him. Someone had thought of him. That meant something.

He placed the flower in a small vase and set it on the side table, next to the letters and on top of some books. He gazed at it as he sank into his chair. He smiled. Snowflake jumped up on the ottoman next to him, and Edwin stroked her rounded back.

“See, Snowflake, someone is thinking of me.”

She nudged his hand with her nose, demanding he pat her there. Edwin stroked her soft fur, gazing at the flower.

“You’re probably hungry, right?” he asked Snowflake.

He stood and got out some food for her before setting to the task of lighting the stove. Then he sat and started reading Wrin’s journal, from where he had stopped the previous night. Wrin and the travellers had been living in the valley where the oreads lived and were sharing their caves.

Sirian showed me his store of food today. There was a large number of dried mushrooms, vegetables, and berries. He also has at least fifteen different types of dried fish, and some dried meat, which I believe to be reindeer. There were also many different types of nuts. I’ve noticed, though, that the oreads do not smoke their meat.

When I asked Sirian about it, he answered that they did not know how. This makes sense, as the oreads do not use fire. I have offered to show him and the others. They seemed keen.

Edwin turned the page. It appeared that Sirian was the only oread who spoke the human tongue. Finished eating, Snowflake jumped up on the ottoman next to Edwin and promptly fell asleep.

Today I showed the oreads how to smoke meat. Sirian was very grateful, but it is nothing compared to how the oreads saved me and my people. We will never be able to repay that debt.

Wrin then went into great detail about the smoking process. The heat of the cabin made Edwin’s eyes droop, and the words washed over him.

Today Sirian gave me a pale-blue flower. It has a dark-green stem, with rounded petals that are hardy. It has a sweet smell. Sirian told me it only blooms in winter.

Edwin sat up.

I tried to pronounce its name, but I mangled it. Sirian laughed at my pronunciation. But then he told me it is a gift that oreads give when they admire someone. He called it a gift for lovers. I didn’t know what to say.

Edwin’s hands grew sweaty. He looked at the little flower in the vase. The wrin flower. Was it named after Wrin? Edwin had thought it had just been a Solstice gift, which had been amazing in and of itself. But what if it was a gift given by an admirer?

Edwin looked back at the journal. But that was the end of the entry. And afterwards, Wrin hadn’t written for several days, which was very unusual for him.

Edwin skimmed the next entry, but there was no more information on the flower. In fact, the next time Wrin wrote, he was giving lots of details about Sirian climbing a cliff face. He went on and on about how Sirian looked, his muscles moving as he did that, but that was not what Edwin needed to know.

He slammed the book shut. He stared at the wrin flower.

A gift for lovers.

But could that be possible? How could someone admire him? Once again, he could hear Ulir’s taunting voice.“How could someone as plain, and pathetic, as you ever think anyone could care for you?”