The Girl Whose Name Was A Poem

XV. The Lake of Sorrows

I know it took me longer than promised. The truth is that from now on I believe the updates will have to be every two weeks, because it I need more time, and it is not fair for you to be waiting with false expectations.

I ask you not to be ghost readers because I really value your votes and I'm very interested in your opinions and comments on the story. They make me very happy. Ghosts are very frustrating readers: /

I adoreyou darlings. Thans for still hanging around upt to this point <3

The lake of Sorrows owed its name to the long silvery trails of melted snow that ran down the mountain flanks in spring, into the lake below, like tears. The legend spoke of a young maid from Pictland, whose lover had died in an ambush while they'd been crossing the valley, fleeing from those who opposed their love. Heart-broken, she spent her days sitting by the body, singing mournfully for her lost love, until her soul died away too. The mountains, moved by her sadness and her song, mourned her death as well, crying rivulets of melted snow that began pooling in the gorge, covering the star-crossed lovers in a mantle of silver water, until the lake was formed, because the mountains cried so much. Because of that, the woads knew that place as Loch Deirdre, named after the young maiden who had broken the mountains' hearts.

Of lake it had little more than the name, for it was narrow and barely a mile or so long. But then, so was the valley. There was barely space for a small road that ran between the shore and the mountain flank, but, just as Devnet had predicted, the way was absolutely blocked by snow.

In order to cross the valley; and they had choice option but to do so, they would have to walk over the treacherous ice.
Arthur, Devnet and the knights gathered at the head of the caravan, looking over at the smooth white surface that extended before them, concealing its danger beneath a cape of snow.

-The ice is thicker than I thought-informed Tristan-At least near the shore. Further forward, however, it's hard to tell-.

Devnet dismounted and dares to kneel by the border of the ice, where she could see Tristan's footprints. She studied the surface.

-It's still not safe enough for the horses and the wagons. We'll need to spread the weight if we want to stand a chance across it-she said, looking at Arthur over her shoulder-And with all this fallen snow...it'll be hard to repair on black ice until it might be too late-.

Arthur studied the cold white landscape, his lips pressed together. He knew that crossing the ice could turn out to be just as fatal as facing the Saxons. He turned to Tristan-Is there any other way?-.

-No-grunted the scout, taciturn-We have to cross the ice-.

A cold gush of wind swept against their faces, carrying the angry whispers of winter.

-It's the only path across the mountain rage. The other pass is days of travel to the South, we'd never make it-sighted Devnet-As much as I hate it, we'll have to cross the ice we don't have another option-.
Arthur nodded-Get them all out of the carriages-he told Jols-Tell them to spread out-. The groom nodded stiffly and rode back to carry his commander's orders.

-It's better if we dismount as well-suggested Devnet, standing up and grabbing Cian's reins-A horse with a rider make a lot of pressure against the ice-.

One by one, the knights dismounted with the fierce gracefulness of those who'd spent a lifetime on horseback, and led their horses.

The committee spread out across the surface of the frozen lake, to equilibrate the weight as much as possible. They advanced slowly, step after step and dragging their feet along the slippery surface in search of possible sheets of black ice hidden beneath the snow. There was no sound but the wind, there was no cold for everyone was concentrating on just taking another step and hoping it was the right one. They held their breath every time the ice groaned beneath them.