[1062 word count]The weather had been unsettled for days, though not in any way that immediately suggested disaster. Freya noticed it first in the wind. It no longer moved with the lazy, warming currents that usually crept down from the mountains as the seasons turned. Instead, it cut sharper, carrying a bite that reminded her of higher elevations and long, unforgiving winters. The air smelled thin and dry, stripped of the gentle dampness of spring. For many in the Kawani lands, it was little more than an odd chill. For Freya, it was a warning.
She had spent much of her life among rugged slopes and narrow passes, where weather was not something to admire from afar but a force to be respected. Snowstorms did not announce themselves with drama; they whispered first, subtle signs easily ignored by the untrained. Freya paused on a rise overlooking a wide stretch of open land and lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she tested the wind again. Clouds were gathering far to the north, heavy and low, their undersides bruised gray instead of the soft white of fair-weather formations.
Winter, it seemed, was not finished yet.
Freya adjusted her path immediately, angling away from the open lowlands and toward a series of rolling hills broken by scattered stands of pine. If the storm came fast - and she suspected it would - open ground would be a death trap. Wind could flatten even the strongest soquili there, and drifting snow could bury landmarks in minutes. She moved at a steady, efficient pace, not panicked but purposeful, conserving energy while still making good time.
By the time the first snowflakes fell, they were already thickening in the air, not the gentle, drifting kind but sharp grains that stung when they struck her coat. The temperature dropped rapidly, the kind of sudden cold that crept beneath the skin and stiffened joints if one wasn’t careful. Freya’s breath came out in visible clouds now, each exhale a small puff that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
She was not alone out here. As the wind rose, she spotted movement ahead - two younger soquili struggling against the strengthening gusts, their heads understood, clearly unsure of where to go. They hadn’t seen the storm coming, or if they had, they’d underestimated it. Freya changed course again, closing the distance with a brief call to get their attention.
“Head for the trees,” she told them once she was close enough to be heard over the wind. “Not straight downwind. You’ll tire yourselves out.”
They looked frightened but listened, falling in beside her as the snowfall intensified. The blizzard descended in earnest then, as if the mountains themselves had exhaled all at once. Visibility shrank to a few body lengths. The world became a blur of white and gray, sky and ground blending until only the dark shapes of trees ahead provided any sense of direction.
By the time they reached the pines, the wind was howling hard enough to make conversation impossible. Snow piled quickly against Freya’s legs, each step heavier than the last. She led them deeper into the stand, weaving between trunks until the wind lessened slightly, broken by the dense growth. It wasn’t warm, but it was survivable.
Freya scanned the area with a practiced eye. Beneath a cluster of older trees, the ground dipped just enough to offer further protection, and fallen branches formed a partial windbreak. She gestured for the others to settle there. They huddled close, sides pressed together to conserve warmth, while Freya remained standing, shifting her weight to keep blood flowing and watching the storm.
Hours passed in a strange, muffled haze. The blizzard roared above them, snow sifting down from the branches in soft avalanches whenever the wind shook them too hard. Freya’s muscles ached from the cold, but she did not let herself go still. She had seen what happened when exhaustion and chill teamed up - how quickly alertness faded, how easy it was to give in to the urge to rest just a little too long.
At one point, another shape emerged from the storm, barely visible until it was almost upon them. An older soquili, coat rimed with ice, stumbled into the trees and nearly collapsed. Freya moved without hesitation, bracing them and guiding them into the shelter. The group shifted to make room, pressed closer together, shared what little warmth they could.
Night fell without ceremony, darkness seeping into the storm rather than replacing it. Time became difficult to judge. Freya focused on small, practical tasks: keeping everyone awake, encouraging subtle movement, adjusting their position when drifting snow threatened to block airflow. She listened constantly - to the wind, to the sounds of breathing around her, to the distant cracks of branches surrendering under the storm’s weight.
Eventually, slowly, the blizzard began to lose its fury. The wind dulled from a scream to a relentless moan, then further still. Snow continued to fall, but more gently now, settling instead of attacking. When dawn finally filtered through the trees, pale and cold, the world looked utterly transformed. Drifts rose nearly to Freya’s chest in places, sculpted into sharp ridges and smooth hollows by the night’s work.
One by one, the others stirred more fully, stiff and exhausted but alive. Freya stepped out from the shelter to assess the landscape. The storm had left its mark everywhere, but the sky to the east was clearing, promising calmer conditions ahead. They would need to move carefully, slowly, but they would move.
Freya felt the familiar weight of fatigue settle into her bones as the immediate danger passed. She had faced storms like this before, higher in the mountains where shelter was scarcer and mistakes cost more. This one had been unusual, ill-timed and fierce, but not unbeatable. Preparation, awareness, and a willingness to help others had made the difference.
As they set off together, following Freya’s lead toward lower, safer ground, she cast one last glance back at the mountains. They stood silent and distant now, their role in the chaos complete. Winter had made its final stand, and though it had come close, it had not claimed them.
Freya moved on, steady and sure-footed, leaving deep tracks in the snow that others could follow - proof that even in nature’s harshest moments, survival was possible without heroics or miracles, just experience, resolve, and the choice not to face the storm alone.
