The Metaphorical Key Book I- Call of the Raven

Chapter X

They buried the dead man once morning broke.

The gravesite was a ways away from the headquarters, not accessible by any of the tunnels. According to a handful of whispered explanations from a mousey-looking man in a thick woollen overcoat, they didn't want the gravesite to be disturbed in the event the headquarters were attacked. Respect, Aiden supposed, slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie (a bright magenta in colour, stark against the sky) and wriggling his fingers around inside in an attempt to get the life back into them. His skin was a dark brown, but he could see the telltale blue tinge and relative paleness of his fingertips that accompanied the early stages of frostbite. His jeans weren't exactly thin, but the way the fabric stretched taut over his legs made him feel as though they weren't there at all, and with the worn seams around the knees, he doubted they'd offer much protection.

"You cold, kid?"

Aiden flinched, whipping around. It was the man in the overcoat, who barked a laugh.

"I've an extra pair o' gloves, if you'd like," the man said.

"Thank you," Aiden managed through chattering teeth. The gloves were too big for him, and the end flopped awkwardly in the air, empty space that wasn't occupied by his relatively small hands and thin fingers. That only made them warmer, though, and he clutched his hands to his chest, taking fistfuls of the fabric of his hoodie as though he were pinning something priceless to his chest.

The rest of the Ravens had gotten ahead of him, and so, still rubbing his fingers together and pinning his hands to his hoodie, Aiden jogged up ahead, squeezing through the crowd until he reached Dulcie. Neither of them talked as they walked, but it was nice to have some company as the wind that came with the August dusk whipped around and made Dulcie's long hair whip around in front of her face, behind her head, into her mouth (that made a flicker of amusement dance in Aiden's chest, quickly quashed by the harsh, cold reminder that up ahead were half a dozen rebels carrying a coffin.)

They stopped up on a hill, the setting sun sending splashes of brilliant pinks, oranges, and purples across the horizon and off the dewy blades of grass. The wind continued to whip around them, the whooshing sound sounding almost like a mournful wail as it turned the tips of Aiden's ears cold.

He ducked under arms and around shaking bodies to see why they'd stopped.

He saw soon enough.

At the base of the hill was a cemetery. A chill shot through Aiden's small frame, not from the wind. It was as if time stood still, even the wind quieting as the group took in the sorry sight of that expansive gravesite.

Aiden's stomach turned. He took a step back, stumbling away from that field of grey and mourning and flowers, both wilting and fresh and scattered in the sky like macabre snowflakes, spinning elaborate dances in the wind, which had returned in a rush of frigid air that made the back of Aiden's neck tingle. A petal fluttered in front of his face. Orange. From a tulip, maybe.

He wasn't sure why that flower petal that flitted so close to his nose was what set it off, but a small whimper escaped his throat and he was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he was only fourteen, just a kid.

He ran back to Dulcie, tripping over his shoelaces (they must've gotten undone as he ran, he'd never done them up tight enough, ada'd said) and crashing into her. She wrapped her arms around him, jacket crinkling as they stumbled.

Aiden sputtered out a whispered apology and a few curses as Dulcie steadied him.

"S'alright," she said, voice so quiet it was hardly even audible over the howling wind. "'S an awful sight, you're not the first to..." she waved one freckled hand around wildly in some sort of gesture that Aiden interpreted as freak out.