The Marble Fall

When the royal city fell it took a side of the mountain with it. Snow, rock and once set stone tumbled themselves in front of the avalanche and re-dusting snow. The sun caught snowflakes scattering in the air, shining briefly as confettied glitter at the Prince’s birth or the Queen’s army returning from a victory in parade. Though for us this was no celebration. The city was our place to trade our harvest and buy supplies we needed to see us through the winter. We rode from our farm late this year, as the blight brought from the invading Brybgentos took portions of the crops in disease. The Queen would not accept a lesser tally than required and Uncle Awron was never short. Flurries already patched the ground as we left, but the snowline always stood higher up the mountainside. Now the place fell as a slab of marble twisting as a broken bird, like the ones Uncle Awron shot on the edge of our wood. With that we knew the Queen was dead.

“This will be a hard few days.” Uncle Awron said, looking far off at the Brybgentos’ silver siege armour. We turned ‘round toward the approaching storm. “And a hard winter.”

The wind pushed into us, so much that I turned my face away from its surprise bite. The snow began soon after. We had a full harvest for ourselves but no protection the Queen once promised. Slowly we turned the wagon into the storm.