Slipping in my faith until I fall
Petals disappeared into the woven branches, little bursts of white and purple and soft blues filling the spaces between the leaves’ fiery hues. He held the frame steady while she worked, adjusting the angle whenever she leaned closer so she didn’t have to reach as far. “A lot of things, I guess,” Marcus said, glancing down as he twisted the frame clockwise so she had a fresh part of canvas to work with. “Tracking mostly. How to read prints in snow, how to tell how old they are. Setting snares. Building shelters if the weather turns bad.” He shrugged lightly, as if it were all ordinary — which, to him, it had been. Long days on the tundra with his parents, wind cutting across endless white, lessons learned because they had to be. He was grateful for the conversation, for it distracted him and the warmth in his cheeks faded. “How to start fires when everything’s frozen. How to stay quiet when you’re hunting.” His mouth curved faintly. “Stuff like that.” As well as all kinds of things he learned on his own, spending countless hours in both the library and the Monster Hunter’s Guild reading and reading and reading.
Nova bumped his shoulder again and a quiet laugh slipped out of him despite himself. The little flicker of starlight drifting around them caught his eye, bright against the muted forest floor. “Alright, alright,” he said, lifting one hand in surrender at her certainty about the Mathair. “You sound pretty confident about that.” And he hoped she was right. From what his father had shared with him about the seasonal deity, well, he knew she could be dangerous. When she finished tucking in the flowers, Marcus reached for the small pile of acorns he’d gathered earlier. “Here,” he said, nodding toward the wreath. “Let’s anchor them in the stronger spots so they don’t fall out.” He rolled one between his fingers for a moment before pushing it carefully between the branches.
Nova bumped his shoulder again and a quiet laugh slipped out of him despite himself. The little flicker of starlight drifting around them caught his eye, bright against the muted forest floor. “Alright, alright,” he said, lifting one hand in surrender at her certainty about the Mathair. “You sound pretty confident about that.” And he hoped she was right. From what his father had shared with him about the seasonal deity, well, he knew she could be dangerous. When she finished tucking in the flowers, Marcus reached for the small pile of acorns he’d gathered earlier. “Here,” he said, nodding toward the wreath. “Let’s anchor them in the stronger spots so they don’t fall out.” He rolled one between his fingers for a moment before pushing it carefully between the branches.
Marcus
He never returned that call
