Submission (#1716) Approved

[1109 words]

“I thought she was really into me, y’know?”

Sterling wore his best sympathetic grimace as the red keb alongside him blubbered about a failed tryst in the Frozen Ruins. As Orrin predicted, his travel companion materialised seemingly out of nowhere with only a few hours to go until they arrived at the fjord. His crimson fur blended well into the blood-red foliage of the surrounding trees, giving Sterling quite the fright when he stumbled out of the forest with a pathetic cry.

Sterling almost missed the prior quiet. The short few days with Orrin had been pleasant; their personalities meshed well with a preference for comfortable silence rather than chatter for its sake. Sterling decided he made the right decision in inviting the larger keb. It was an easy sort of companionship, neither prying too deeply into the other’s business when conversation flowed. Orrin was a ranger, Sterling learned, and a seasoned one at that. He pointed out edible winter herbs and tracks of potential dinner, sometimes barely perceptible in the fresh snow.

Enju’s appearance had flipped the dynamic of the journey altogether, from a serene trek to somewhat of a rag-tag comedy show. Sterling watched a little apprehensively as the boisterous keb paused mid-lament and blew loudly into the borrowed handkerchief, then shook his head when it was offered back to him.

“Please keep it,” Sterling insisted a little stiffly.
“Real kind of you,” Enju sniffled, sending back a genuine but snotty and wet smile.

Orrin groaned several paces ahead of the two.
“Sterling, ignore him; he’ll go on forever if he thinks he’s got a shoulder to cry on.”
“My heart is broken, Orrin!” Enju cried out dramatically, his breath rising in the frigid air.

Sterling listened as the two went back and forth for a while, Orrin in muttered growls, Enju whining back with an almost theatrical flair. When the exasperation in Orrin’s voice began to tip into genuine annoyance, Sterling hopped ahead of them both with a playful spring in his step.

“Hey, we’re almost to the fjords. We take this side path for the vantage point I mentioned,” the silver keb nodded to a small dent in the treeline, easily missed if the onlooker wasn’t already aware of its existence.
“Vantage point!” Enju’s eyes sparkled like a child let in on a secret. He bounded ahead and peered in through the snow-draped branches. “It doesn’t seem like this path has been used in a while, are you sure?”
“The man comes every year, of course he’s sure.” Orrin grumbled, though he cast a glance at Sterling as if to verify.
“Not a lot of people know how to get up on the side-bluffs by the fjords, and this is the way.” Sterling smiled warmly, then crouched under the low-hanging tree and onto the path beyond.

The trees had enmeshed intricately, branches woven like a ceiling, making a canopy of white far above while leaving its underbrush relatively untouched by snow. Remnant leaves of autumn from non-evergreens littered the ground in vibrant hues of reds and oranges, and it was a fraction warmer under the tunnel-like expanse of the forest, like a nature-made igloo. Enju made an awed sound, and Sterling smiled when he saw Orrin’s head also tilted up and around in appreciation.

It was like a slice of fall, frozen in time, cocooned by ice and living wood. Red-capped mushrooms grew from moulding deadfall, and something small scurried in the dense carpet of twigs and leaves. It smelled earthy but fresh, spiced with balsam and damp dew. Enju ran ahead, checking out the little things that caught his attention. Sterling and Orrin walked a little ways behind him like parents watching over their child.

“There’s a touch of magic here,” Orrin commented, his voice still warm with admiration as he continued to take in the path.
“How’d you know?” Sterling’s brows rose.
“I know a little about magic,” he mumbled, then added on hurriedly. “Trees can mesh like this naturally, but this is just a little too perfect with the way it keeps out the snow. Is this your doing?”
Sterling shook his head then spoke, “No. An old druid friend of mine, though it’s been years. I come every year, expecting it to have collapsed.”
“They were skilled,” Orrin said, more a statement than a compliment.
“She was,” Sterling agreed. They fell back into a quiet walk after that, Enju exclaiming every now and then in delight.

The stretch of autumnal path continued along for another hour, until the familiar gradient of white began to paint the leaves in flecks. Sterling sighed at the biting cold that crept against his cheeks as the path's magic finally faded, and with it, the canopy of trees also thinned. The warm dimness opened up to pristine blue skies along the tall bluffs, and just beyond them, a Torodon bellowed as it waded through the turquoise waters of the fjord.

Though it wasn’t as up-close and personal as some of the other stations far below, the scenic view from high above was unmatched. Mountain ranges stretched along the vast expanse of the horizon, clouds wispy and high over a blanket of red-tipped trees. Icy water, eclectic-blue, drained out into the land like veins of a magical creature, curling around boulders far older than any of the onlookers that cheered as the Torodons passed.

Sterling inhaled sharply as he watched Enju skid dangerously close to the edge, though he stopped just short of careening over. Orrin sighed heavily at his side.
“This is amazing!” Enju laughed, his tail wagging in slow arcs behind him. For the first time since his joining, the three shared a moment of peace as they took in the sight. Sterling was the first to break their trance, rummaging in his pack after a while.
“There’s a steep path along the side that will let us down closer whenever we’re ready,” Sterling explained with a nod in its direction. “But for now,” he said, grin turning triumphant as he pulled out a large flask and a wrapped parcel from his pack, “We have a celebratory picnic.”

He spread open the parcel’s thick canvas, revealing a decadent selection of cured meat and fruit. He stoked a small fire where he warmed the flask’s contents in a collapsible pot - mulled wine from the last hub, he explained, slicing sweet orange and cloves into the deep purple brew. Orrin had the foresight to pack a similar parcel of rations, and the picnic became a feast as cheese and bread were added to the spread. With mismatched cups, they toasted to another safe crossing of the fjords.