SNYEZHÍNKA

[prophetisms 982]

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

SNOWFLAKE.

 

 

The elder Korvacz, Alekszej, posed the question so casually to Dszamila. They stopped before the Ashwood Throne, among the maple trees. In some way, they brought her comfort. If they were white, they would be like the Saintswood. There was no birch bark, though, and the familiar red leaves split in a manner that left an opening in the canopy. Through it, snow made its slow and unyielding descent onto both Korvacz. 

 

The sight made Dszamila turn her gaze up and squint as the weather threatened to obscure her sight. “I can’t remember ever experiencing snow at Koppány,” Dszamila replied to Alekszej, her words entrenched in a dialect that flowed easier than Common for them both. She added, eyes still set upon the sky, “Maybe on the coldest nights,” when the winds of the Aestmarch howled the loudest, “But it would melt in the morning.” The last snow of great measure was likely Tuvmas, which felt more like a lifetime ago for Dszamila. 

 

Dszamila looked back to Alekszej, like she ripped her attention away from the stars and snow above. In her eyes was a glimmer of hope amidst an uncertainty that wracked her features more often. “It’s beautiful,” she said, “It’s familiar.” However, that was the issue at hand for the younger Korvacz. “It feels too good to be ours.” 

 

Her elder could only laugh at her words, but not out of malice. It came from fond understanding, to days where he felt a similar wonder despite doubt. “You’re a Korvacz,” Alekszej told her. He hardly took another breath before he explained, “We are drawn to natural beauty; to the frontiers of the world.” The Aestmarch too, was a frontier, before beset by war and left scarred by its brutality. Those scars of loss would come to fade, though. “Our people are naturalists. Hunters, houndmasters, tanners, foresters,” Alekszej listed the professions, each one a pursuit that did not start with Koppány, nor would they end with it. 

 

Alekszej’s hand, bound in dyed leathers, collected some snow for himself with a lofted palm. In a lighthearted manner, the grandfather told his granddaughter, “It was our ancestors that believed the gods were in the land,” from Norland to Haense. “To this day,” he admitted, “I believe this. It was a lesson Ludmilla taught me.” As snow weakly clung onto Alekszej’s gloves, he peered down at it. “This too, a gift from the Vilas.” Fairies.

 

Dszamila’s hands rose, watching as more snow fell onto the leather of her own gloves, not melting as easily as it would in the lands of Haense. “Godani,” she whispered out, almost in disbelief. For any Nordling, it was an ordinary sight. For Dszamila, a Haeseni once upon the Midlands, it was special still. It was almost like she was a child again, yet her concerns of bugs and boys were gone. Instead, it was snow and her own boy.

 

“Before you walked in,” Dszamila referenced to Alekszej, back to their time at Castle Lesanov. “I told Anaksandr I thought Balta and Dszen would enjoy the snow.” Both her babes, or close to it, as Baltasar had not reached five winters yet. “They will know snow,” and even though the notion had charm to the mother, she found tears growing instead of showing teeth. 

 

“They might know those gods, this Allfather, his lands,” like Norland, “But they will never know our steppes.” Dszamila’s eyes slid from slick gloves to her sage grandfather. Through marred vision, she continued, “They will not know Xéniavaros unless they cross its ruins. They will know a home,” and Dszamila professed to Alekszej, “But not my home.” 

 

It was a swift assumption from Dszamila, though not as swift as Alekszej. He approached her, hand shirking the snow to do the same to her tears. There was no attempt to ward off the help, either. “Will this be my home?” The granddaughter asked aloud, hoping for some kind of answer from her grandfather. 

 

“Dear Mila,” Alekszej started with, “Let me ask you this: what is home? A place? Or people?” 

“People,” Dszamila echoed softly. “People in a new place,” she added to her comment, both brows raising as the younger Korvacz had to come to terms with the circumstance. 

 

After the question and answer lingered in the air alongside the snow, cupped her cheek, near pinching it like any other Raevir elder would. “Little Wolf, Mila,” Alekszej imparted more wisdom onto her. “For me, home is where family is.” From little isles, to the expanses of the Highlands now, “I spent nearly twenty years separated from the rest of us, yet I was home.”

 

Gladly, Alekszej reminisced, “I had Ludmilla, our children, and my father.” That was home, for a while. “When Ludmilla passed, and my father did, I still had the children.”

“And then?” 

 

“Then I found the rest of the Korvacz in Haense.” That was home, too, within the reddened walls of New Valdev and the white walls of Xéniavaros. “We lived in a manor,” and Alekszej laughed, “You weren’t even born then.” The years crept up on them both, but more graciously on the elder, despite his age. Maybe it was a favor of the gods as Alekszej spoke again, “I still find myself at home. I’m surrounded by Highlanders, by family, by loved ones.” 

 

Dszamila let out a weak laugh as she listened to Alekszej, “This will be another home,” he declared. “One of acceptance and nature, of pagans and gods, of community too.” There was nothing to deter the old man’s belief. With this confidence, Alekszej also gave a gentler conclusion, “So, I think yes. This will be your home, if you let it be.”

 

Her head tilted to the side and Dszamila huffed out. “Part of me feels like it’s not real,” she admitted about where they stood. The only way she knew the land wasn’t a trick was the way the wind brushed through the trees and delivered the biting cold. Her nose scrunched, but not only at the feeling. “I mean, really. Down the road from us, Koppány.”

 

Past the winding hills, Dszamila found Norland, Highlanders, and a home to be. “I feel a fool, grandfather,” that she did not find it sooner.  

 

“No,” Alekszej shook his head in disapproval. “You were sheltered. Haense was sheltered,” he quickly replied, to even out the blame. It applied to him too. “My biggest regret is not taking you lot out around the continent more.” To learn more and see more would’ve done Dszamila and her siblings great favors, in truth. 

 

“There is so much to this place you have yet to see,” Alekszej set the foundations for hope, “I know you would love it all.” His hand then rested against his shaska, before he told Dszamila more about the land of the Nordlings. Talk of their faith, their hunt of beasts and beguiling forces–Grendel. Although Dszamila listened, those words were like a light rattling against her skull. She was no Nordling yet, but every path she now tread would lead her back to Norland. The winding road will never be from Koppány again, but past it.

 

Alekszej caught Dszamila’s focus again. “I am happy,” he admitted after, “I am free. We are free of the duties of the city.” No longer an Alderman, and soon Dszamila would no longer be Royal Inquisitor, nor Viscountess. “You can explore,” Alekszej laid another brick in the base of their new beginnings. “Raise your children to be curious, explore, and learn.” 

 

Dszamila raised her hand, as white specks now coated her person from cap to boot. Hawk-eyed was she, seeing the way each had its own form, but together, they made up the snowfall. In the northern night, they did not yield. In the harsh winds, they became the storm. Was it not Dszamila’s turn, not to weather the storm, but embrace it? 

 

“The world is now yours, Mila.” The grandfather softly smiled to granddaughter, before asking her too, “So tell me, what will you do with it?” 

“Love it.”

 

 

Spoiler

Thank you @psychra_notte for the recent roleplay interaction, it felt fitting to put into a post.

[psychra_notte 618]

Spoiler

Thank you for the RP!!! It was a ton of fun, wonderful post and format :)