A Winter's Claiming

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Cotton candy clouds I called them when I was little. It was my favorite time of day. When the blue suns faded, and the red moon rose a washing the valley in violet majesty. Snuggled in our barns loft amongst the hay and wheat, I watched the winter dragons migrate north toward the Carpathian mountains where they would breed during the summer months only to return upon the first snowfall. Their golden scales glistening goodbye in the dying light of day.

Only once they were but specks in the distance did I disentangle myself from the musty warmth and climb down the rickety wooden ladder to the barn stalls below. Misty, our great cow mooed her annoyance at my interruption of her evening meal. I paused at her gate and stuck my long arm in to ruffle her black and white feathers.

“Sorry girl,” I whispered. I grabbed the metal comb off of the inner door and gave Misty a few good pets. “You know I had to see them off though, don’t you girl?” Misty tousled her head in response.

“Oh, don’t be that way, you know you are still my favorite.”

A great snort of smoke escaped Misty’s nostrils. I finished a few more brushes of her silken feathers before replacing the comb back onto the wooden gate.

“How about tomorrow we go for a ride, yeah?” I asked the obviously still annoyed cow. Misty stared in my direction for a few tense moments before finally giving the barest of nods.

“Great,” I laughed, kissing her on the snout. “See you in the morning.”

Upon reaching the heavy front doors I paused and looked back into the dim lit space. “And good night all ye other fair beasts that call this humble barn home, I shouted, and slid the door open along it’s rusted metal track just wide enough for my thin body to pass through.

I made my way across the field quickly, the nightly chill causing my arms to break out in tiny goosebumps. The light in the kitchen window was still lit like a beacon in a rainstorm. It was calling me home.

Inside my mother was sat on her favorite stool mending clothes by the open grate fireplace. The heat of the flames taming the miniature mountains that sprouted on my limbs instantly.

“Did you see them?” My mother asked not looking up from the cloth in her deft hands.

“There were twelve,” I said and took the seat next to her.

“Feradin stopped by earlier,” My mother informed me changing the subject, the tone in her voice rising slightly in question.

“Yeah?” I struggle to keep the excitement from of my voice.

“He said to tell you hello and ask if you might want to accompany him to town tomorrow.”

I had to be careful about what I said next. Mother and Father did not approve of Feradin. He was three years my senior and son to what the other villagers cruelly called the village nutcase. Not that my parents would ever say such a thing. Charles and Christina Millard were never cruel. That being said, while they would never forbade me from associating with Feradin or his unique father, it did not mean they liked it. Our farm relied on the generosity and continued business of the local community.

“Does father need me tomorrow?” I ask my mother silently praying for a no.

My mother searched my face intently, her own face a mask of intention.

“I am sure we can manage without you,” she smiled, the warmth rivaling that of the fireplace.

“Thank you,” I quietly respond unwilling to break the beauty of this moment. I sit with mother for a little while longer watching her nimble fingers dart above and below the cloth in unsurprising quickness. It was like watching dolphins frolicking in the harbor. The firelight glowing on her auburn hair making even her wrinkles beautiful as she hummed a mournful tune.

Eventually, the grandfather clock chimes ten times and I moved to stand. She barely lifted her head as I kissed her temple, her quiet voice steady and peaceful.

“Goodnight mother,” I whispered.

“Good night, sweet child.”

My room was exactly as I had left it that morning. My flannel sheets hanging from the bed in mock exhaustion. I take out my long braid and brush my hair with a very similar brush to the one I use on Misty. The cotton candy clouds have darkened outside to a deep magenta, the red moon bloated to full in the cavernous night sky. I climbed in my bed and pulled the covers up under my chin. Tomorrow would bring much adventure and if I was to get in a morning ride, this reckless youth needed her sleep.