Frigid wind howled through the twisted trees of the southern Dragonspine Mountains. Its icy claws ripped at anything daring to venture into its depths. An unbroken gray sky cast the world in muted light. Deep, powdery snow covered the path.

Lyryk Starsong tramped through the drifts, leaving an unbroken path behind her. Wrapped in a thick cloak of fur-lined wool, a pack of supplies hung at her side. Her staff kept her upright when she found the hidden ice patches. The neck of her lute peeked out over her shoulder from its strap across her back.

Beside her, Biscuit loped through the snow, his thick, red-brown coat a sharp contrast against the white landscape. His loyalty had been an unwavering presence since he’d found her those many seasons past. Despite the cold and snow, he bounded with unrelenting energy, as though the storm could never match his spirit.

They’d been traveling for days. The isolation of the forest grew heavier with each passing hour. Twisted branches reached toward the sky like gnarled fingers. The biting air was a brutal reminder that winter had come early to the south.

“We need shelter, Biscuit,” Lyryk said, her voice muffled by the howling wind, “but we need to keep moving. The cold is relentless.” She said the last as much to herself as her companion.

The forest edge is near Bard, came his mental response. He bounded ahead, his enormous paws creating clouds of powdery snow as he pressed forward, ever the idealist.

Lyryk smiled despite herself. She’d found no matter how bleak the road ahead, Biscuit’s unyielding optimism lifted her spirits. He was not a pet. Biscuit was her companion, her friend, her confidant. Together, they’d weathered countless storms, both literal and figurative. Lyryk had no illusions of finding civilization in this forsaken stretch of land. Hope kept her moving.

Snow crunched beneath their feet as they trudged ahead. Despite the frigid air, Lyryk’s heart warmed as they neared their goal. It wasn’t the warmth of fire or hearth that she sought; no, it was the warmth of a story, a song, anything to ignite that spark of inspiration eluding her for weeks. Music permeated Lyryk’s soul, and without it, she was adrift.

A long time had passed since she’d drafted a song that filled her heart with pride. Her most recent compositions were half-finished, abandoned fragments. They lacked the depth she sought.

The trees thinned as the edge of the forest neared. A vast expanse of snow-covered plains spread out below them. Far in the distance, she saw the silhouette of another mountain range. Wind stung her cheeks, but she ducked her head into the gale, determined to push forward.

“Nearly there, Biscuit,” Lyryk said, her voice softer now. “I can feel it. Something’s waiting for us.”

Indeed, Bard, I too feel it, Biscuit wagged his tail, sensing the change in the air. His honey-colored eyes scanned the horizon, alert to any signs of movement.

Day stretched into evening, the sky darkened, and the wind gained strength. The temperature plummeted. Lyryk longed for the warmth of a fire and the company of other travelers. But there was no sign of shelter, no flicker of light in the distance. It was as though they were the last living beings in this frozen world.

“Keep going, Biscuit,” Lyryk urged. “We can’t stop now.”

They pressed on, the snow deeper now, the wind a constant roar in their ears. Before long, her feet dragged, the exhaustion from days of travel catching up with her. She was not one to admit defeat easily, but the cold was persistent. She worried her stiff hands would affect her ability to finger the strings on her lute and viol. Her breath clouded in front of her face as a deep ache settled in her bones.

Through the swirling snow, Lyryk spotted a faint glimmer ahead. A flicker of light, a warm glow breaking through the darkened world. Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Had they finally found shelter?

“Look, Biscuit!” Lyryk exclaimed, her voice full of hope. “We’re not alone!”

Come, Bard. He bounded ahead, his long legs kicking up snow as he plunged toward the light, breaking the path for her. Lyryk followed close behind, renewed energy driving her forward.

As they neared, the source of the light came into sight—a small cottage nestled among the trees at the edge of the forest. The chimney puffed out a steady stream of smoke, and warm light flickered from the windows. A lantern hung by the door, casting a golden glow on the snowy path leading up to the entrance.

Lyryk’s heart soared. Here was a place of warmth, of safety, of life in this cold, barren landscape.

(to be continued)