Every dweller of the forest was dozing off, hiding in their caves, whether on the floor or in the trees. Silence began to return, where some minutes ago the loud echoes of whistling rockets had rung through the woods, transforming the very dark sky into a shower of colors. But even though it had appeared to last forever, not a sound or a hint of color remained on the now glittering starry night sky with its waning moon.
All that remained was the never-ending wind of winter, howling silently through the pines while the birds were puffing their feathers and moving together to warm each other.
An owl, sitting on the branch right before her cave, suddenly moved her head. Her glowing eyes searched for what had come to her ears-something that was an echo in the night. It was the crunching of snow.
Steadily, the movements grew louder. Until at last, under the owl's tree, appeared a shadow of a figure, halting at it, leaning against the very pine, his breathing transforming the air in front of him as dense as fog.
It was a man whose jacket was black, yet with silver buttons and glimmering florals across it, it was undoubtedly a uniform. Atop his hat sat a red beret with some black hair strands peeking out of it. From his wide shoulder hung an object, long and seemingly heavy, dangling freely, whereas every time it caught the moon's white light, it gave a small flash from it. A weapon.
He brushed the snow off his face, cheeks red from the biting cold wind, and lips apart to catch his breath. Young he was, and his blue eyes shimmered as his gaze fell to the moon above. Sighing, he set off yet again. He stomped on through the snow, where the powdery white kept dancing through the skies, falling in between his neck and shirt.
A small tremble went through his body as he put his hands into the pockets. The high dunes grew in number with every meter he walked toward the west. His boots grew full of snow, yet he didn't stop; he didn't falter. The soldier's blue eyes always fell back to the forest before him, as if he saw what he desired. Silently, his lips began to move, and only sometimes could one hear a silent word leave them.
At last, with trembling hands, he pulled out a small picture from his chest pocket. A smile formed on his thin lips as a flicker of warmth shone in his eyes, gazing at the image of his family's faces-his everything.
Putting the photo back into safety, he walked with much more elan, fighting his way through a tall dune. With a smile as bright as a child's, he hurried on, whispering, »I shall come home very soon. «. Fighting his way through branches of dense pines, he talked to himself, »I couldn't be there to celebrate the New Year, but I shall be home to welcome it when my dears awake. «
An owl's hooting echoed through the forest, where not a faint whisper of a civilization's light was to be seen. Yet the scent of smoke was undoubtedly dancing in the wind.
Without notice, and where no one can say for sure how it has come, that the soldier had heard it in his haste, a sound came dancing towards his ears. A silent and faint whisper of something. At first, the young soldier didn't quite realize he had heard anything and only slowed down, yet after a while, another noise found its way through the trees. The soldier came to a stop.
He stared into the distance of the dark woods, watching the branches of the trees flutter in the breeze. Snowflakes were flying through the sky before his very eyes, seemingly trying to lead him into the very direction the strange whisper had come from. Without waiting any longer and without determining what it was, the soldier sat his foot on the darker parts of the woods, following the odd, indistinct sound.
Brushing the branches aside, the needles scratched his cold cheeks, but he kept on walking. The breeze came howling past his ears, the whisper of an unknown sound atop its wave. He was coming closer.
The young soldier saw the pine trees stand closer together, forming an obstacle-one where he had to fight to walk through it.
Never had he left the path in these parts of the woods, as many a soul had already lost its way in the forest of the Wilschwa. Yet he was determined to find out what called upon him, even though he knew not why.
The snow under his boots began to grow in mass as the wind began to howl ever stronger, building dunes of powdery white between the dark and old pine trees. The young soldier was breathing heavily, halting for a while to catch his breath, only to hear the whisper yet again, clearer than ever, and suddenly the soldier knew what it was.
It was the voice of a child.
The young man's eyes opened wide. He went on, faster and more determined than ever. Pushing all the branches aside in haste, he didn't feel the strong needles cutting his cold-bitten cheek, leaving a great scratch along his right face. He didn't feel the warmth of his blood. The soldier's eyes caught hold of the moon's light there, where the treetops parted. With great effort, he fought his way through the last wall of dense trees and tripped through their branches, falling into a clearing and a large dune. The snow was jumping into the air. He sat up. Sitting in the snowdune, he stared at the moon above and the clearing in front of him. Small pines were standing in the large dunes. Snowflakes were slowly falling from above, where the milky way was shimmering. But to the young man, only one thing took all his focus, and it was the silent voice of a child so close by. Was it speaking to him, was it singing, or was it talking to itself?
The soldier barely noticed standing up, and he didn't notice his careful steps towards the greatest of snow dunes between three young pines, where a bundle of black fabric was lying atop it. Something in it was moving. The young man halted as he saw a white hand, as white as snow and as tiny as it could be, stretching into the sky, as if wanting to take hold of the falling snowflakes. A soft laugh came from the bundle, a faint whisper, yet one that brought warmth to the soldier's heart. And in new bravery, he stepped towards it.
A child he had never seen returned his watchful eyes the very moment he looked down upon it.
The faint white of the child's thin skin was as if it were made of paper. Its strains of some hair were black and white alike. Yet it was the eyes of the child that caught the soldier's stare. They were of a green color, unlike anything the man had seen in nature. They were bright green, as if poison itself, and yet so light, they might seem like glass.
The stare of the child and him kept hold for more than a minute, until finally the soldier dropped to his knees. With trembling fingers, he brushed the cheek of the child, who smiled without a sign of fear or sadness. It was too calm for a child this age.
The soldier slowly lifted the bundle to his chest and held it close to his heart. He dared not look away from it, as if, in fear, it might break apart. Yet when he stood up, he peeked through the clearing in an attempt to see any sign of any human who might've left this innocent human being behind, but none was to be seen.
He sighed and smiled at the child. »Fear not. I shall not let you alone. «, he whispered.
Without another word, the soldier walked away, slowly and carefully, one eye always on the child, while a small shooting star flew across the sky above.
I
A single cat was awake, sitting in the light of a lantern at the beginning of the paved street, watching the world around it-the town of Salvender.
Most of the town's houses were made of white bricks, and all of them had red roofs. There was not even a single house that didn't have a garden or a barn. From every barn came the silent sound of snoring animals, of which most were sheep and goats. The hens were in their pens, heads under their wings or in their feathers, while the dogs were in their huts, snoring not so silently.
All lay at peace when suddenly the gray cat's golden eyes caught a movement in the shadows, where soon appeared in the light of the lanterns a figure clad in a uniform. Of course, it was none other than the soldier with the child, who turned his head almost nervously, as if seeking something. Soon after, he ran past the cat, who watched him for as long as it needed for him to vanish around a corner.
The soldier held the child close to his chest while he again and again looked down at it. He wasn't quite sure whether it was truly sick, but the pale skin and the child's odd silence made him very worried. He hurried. His steps echoed off the stone-paved streets through the night, where most people were sleeping like stone after the celebrations.
The buildings around the soldier changed to what seemed to be older houses. They weren't as tall and certainly not as big as the newer ones of Salvender. In fact, most of those buildings were made of stone. Their windows still had beautifully arched window sills with carvings made of wood around them. Even the lanterns were of old age, glimmering in their warm orange light.
With a sudden jolt, the soldier halted, almost walking past what had been his destination. He was staring at a silvery guild sign with a red cross. With hesitation and an expression of uncertainty laying in his face, he glanced once more at the child, and only then did he knock at the wooden old door. It didn't take long for footsteps to be heard coming from the inside.
The locks were unlocked with loud clicking sounds, and soon the wooden entrance flung open, with a man under its round arch with blue, soft eyes, blonde, nicely combed hair, and an expression of purity; one could only feel trust towards him.
»Phil, «, the soldier whispered, »I need your help. «
II
»There is something my grandfather always used to say. Because even though there are clouds above us all-and even though things occur where we seem to see only the eternity of them-he never had a fainter light. He never lacked the strength to take the step forward. He never feared where it would lead and never dared to not take what seemed to others to be a risk. To him, it was no risk. He had faith and knew that what lay on his path was what was meant for him to face. And so he said, Where faith is, there is no path too hard. «
The snowflakes were crashing against his face, resting on the child. Where the lanterns had been, the white of the sky was falling in such density that no one could even see a house through it. But he knew where he was headed.
»There aren't many who'd dare to take it. Even though it might appear like a child, like you and me, its life will be a little different. I'm sad and happy for it alike. For one, it lives, and what is there more to be happy about? But secondly, we do not know what happens to a child who was born with it and lives on. «
There was a faint glimmer in the snowstorm. A window, where a figure was standing in it. Someone was waiting. The soldier followed the light, deep in thought, with the words still repeating in his mind.
»Don't take me wrong, Reynold; I'm happy to have a friend with an honest heart like yours. And I do think, too, that it's only possible for someone like you to dare and take on this task. I assure you, I'll stay by your side whenever it needs me. At that point, you're not alone. And this is a promise. «
The soldier opened a wooden gate and marched through the newly fallen snow, which lay in a garden where a massive pine tree had its place. Before his eyes stood a beautiful house, which he knew well was his and his family's.
»You want to know from me, what one has to expect? My friend, Reynold, if only I could tell you, but I fear I can't know, as I've never seen it. «
Light began to flood the garden and the storm. A figure stood in the arch of the now widely opened door to the house.
»Thank you, Phil. Your words are true, and I suppose I should be aware of what will come, yet, I say, I shall love it as if it were mine nonetheless. «
He walked towards the light, a smile on his lips and his grandfather's words still echoing in his mind.
III
There was a great church in Salvender whose bells rang every Sunday, calling to the prayers and calling to the end of the mass. Each day, there were some who came to pray and listen to the prayers of the priest. On such a day, after the mass, there was one person still sitting on the benches, on their knees, with their head tilted with folded hands.
As the last person left the room, he was all that remained. The setting sun of the warm summer evening shone through the colored windows. The candles were flickering in the soft breeze, and the scent of hay and freshly mown grass was traveling with the wind.
The person lifted his head.
Blue eyes gazed at the altar and the mighty cross. Eight years ago, Reynold, the young soldier, carried a child into this church, a girl, who had received her baptism on this very spot. Reynold's lips were moving silently, and for a while, none could be heard. But sweat shimmered on his forehead, and louder he began to talk, yet still a whisper.
»My faith shall never be broken, and even though times come that demand strength ever more, I shall never feel it fainter. The loss is great and the grief deep, but it is not me whom I fear for. The hearts of children are softer and yet to be shaped, so I fear for what comes of that. A great loss is hard for them to face, and what can I say to make it better or safer? But for you, I come with more than one burden. The child, the one you gave to me on that fateful winter's night, was well and healthy, yet I fear the pain was all too hard. Because not long ago, I noticed something was off. And soon after that, my friend came to me and told me what she saw. She sees and hears what no one can see. Her eyes are always filled with fear. I beg you, Lord, give her strength and lead me unto the path, which I have to take, to help her. «. His voice grew shaky when his words ended. He made the sign of the cross before his chest, bowing his head once again and pressing his hands against his head. He knew not of the small child in the arch of the church's door, hiding in the shadows, fear in her eyes. She turned around and ran home, although she had hoped to greet her father before he'd leave for Fort Setrus.