The wind began to howl that afternoon, the sky slowly edging toward black as the minutes passed. Neve watched the dark, heavy clouds roll in, shivered as the wind picked up even more, as if the gale was determined to tear away all they’d done of the past months to turn their little camp amidst the ruins into a home.
Nothing felt right.
How was that any different from usual?
As the first drops of rain spattered against the treated canvas of the tents, she sighed, trying to convince herself that it was nothing more than the first real rain of spring, just a storm rolling through, riding the edge of a weather front.
Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe I’m just paranoid.
“Quite the storm,” Sif said softly as she drew up alongside her. The warrior looked like death on toast, her face pale and eyes ringed by deep, bruise-colored shadows. “Reminds me of long ago.”
“The storm?” Neve asked, feeling foolish as soon as the words left her mouth. Sif gave her a wry smile.
“Aye. I can remember them sweeping in off the ocean, the waves coming up and breaking on the shore. They were never pleasant, but they heralded a change in the weather, one way or another. Maybe spring has finally come.”
“That could be a mildly pleasant change, assuming that storms like this aren’t going to be what we’ll be dealing with day-in and day-out until summer comes.” Neve shoved her hands into her pockets, wincing at the first rumble of thunder that seemed to roll on forever, like a herd of cattle over the moors. “Any change with Thordin?”
“Not yet,” Sif whispered. “But I still have hope. I have to, right? Someone has to.”
“We all do.” Neve took her hand and squeezed. “You’re not alone, Sif.”
“No,” she murmured. “I just feel that way. It just feels that way.”
