Life is simple in Frostspire, a sleepy little village perched by the sea, cradled in the lap of mountains tall and snow-clad. Yet a simple life is not without its problems. Fortunately, the folk of Frostspire have someone to turn to when in need; a...
"Took your sweet time getting ready, didn't you?" said Lars, looking him up and down with amused eyes. Then he beckoned him to follow.
The path they took was nothing special. It was familiar and much-trodden, one that led out of the village, over Icewater Creek and through the forest to Lars' house. Alvar was embarrassed, thinking he was severely overdressed for the occasion.
Perhaps all the wizard had meant by his proposal was a simple walk, and the special place was just some flowering meadow nearby. Everyone had special places like those.
Lars said nothing to confirm or dismiss any of that, however. He went on about the weather and the crops and the rosemaries in his garden and before Alvar knew, he'd tuned out of it, the words he spoke turning into a pleasant but incoherent buzz.
It was like this when he'd seen Lars for the first time. He had moved in recently and needed to replenish his supply of herbs. He was still new in Frostspire and after a bit of asking around, Mrs. Launceleyn had shown him to Gran's shop. Alvar was sitting just by the front gate then, snipping the thorns off a pile of white roses.
When he strode in through the gate, hooded and cloaked, staff in hand, looking so grand and beautiful, Alvar had scarcely registered what the new customer was actually asking for. And when he knelt beside him, lowering his hood and offering a smile, Alvar's hand slipped, his fingers caught between the pruner blades. Beads of blood spilled over the white roses.
Lars had apologized profusely, though he really wasn't to blame. Then he'd taken his hand. "Hold on a moment. I can fix this," he said.
And that was how the people of Frostspire came to know that the newcomer young wizard could heal people with his powers. Gran was so pleased to meet a fellow practitioner of the art, she gave him the herb he was looking for free of cost. It was black henbane he'd been asking for, Alvar had later noted with some embarrassment.
Lars dropped by quite a few times after that day, not necessarily looking to purchase, but to ask whether the cut was healing well. It was. Minor wounds closed by magic always healed well, leaving little to no scars. He bet the wizard knew that, but he came to visit nonetheless. It was autumn then as well, and the chrysanthemums were in bloom, their swirls of deep crimson rocking gently at the caress of the wind. Lars used to admire them on his way out.
So Alvar picked a bunch with great care, tied them at the stem with a beautiful silver ribbon and gave them to him next time he came by.
He'd expected a smile, but Lars looked rather serious, seeming to derive some profound meaning from the flowers.
"I'll treasure them," he said solemnly.
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"So I need to know before we start on our journey, are you afraid of heights?"
Alvar snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"
They were still walking down a trail through the forest, and unbeknownst to both, their footsteps drew closer and closer until their shoulders almost touched. Alvar made a feeble attempt to grasp the thread of conversation he'd lost long ago. "What does that have to do with anything?"
