It was cold. It was far too cold to be outside. The sun had set, and the frost had settled everywhere. The wind that rushed through the dark shadows of the forest blew the fall leaves about with chilling gusts. It was far too cold to be outside on a dark night like this.
But for some, the choice to stay inside was not theirs to be made. The owls that hooted into the night lived easily through the cold, much accustomed to the drastic changes in weather that so often befell their homes. The wolves in the distance howled together in a loud and serene melody. The air they exhaled was visible in the night, caressed delicately in the moonlight. A small brown mouse scurried about the fallen leaves, seeking shelter from the sharp claws of the owls, and the teeth of other such predators that sought him.
A young woman walked among the shadows, breathing warm air into her palms in a futile attempt to warm her cold fingers. Long strands of silver hair draped so thickly around her thin body that any who saw her would believe that she wore a hooded silver cloak. Her pale, bare arms shivered silently. The black uniform she wore did not have sleeves to keep her warm, and was not thick enough to warm her on a cold night like this. She gazed about the dark shadows of the cold forest with tired dark eyes. She had barely slept since the night before last. She would have gladly slept now, was it not that the cold had chilled her to the bone, and that she was waiting for a man that would expect her to be awake.
She’d been waiting for him in this wild forest for nearly a week now, and each night she spent waiting seemed colder than the last. Once, after rinsing her hair in a stream, she’d woken to find her silver strands coated with frost and stiff with ice. She was afraid that if it were treated roughly, her hair would break with the fragile icicles. She’d waited all night, cold and frozen among the leafless trees, until the sun rose again and slowly melted her icy hair and fingers.
Tonight was the coldest night yet, as winter was fast approaching and she silently feared that the man would never come. She feared more and more as the hours past that she would be left to die of the cold, alone, and provide the animals of the forest with a feast of her frozen flesh. Perhaps the man would come too late, and find her dead. Would he feel guilty? Pity her? Or scorn her for being so weak?
She leaned back into a tree that stood behind her. It was only a bit taller than the small woman with silver hair, and the rough bark rubbed against her back with a frosty touch. She sighed deeply, cursing the weight of her heavy eye lids. She was sure that if she slept now, she would wake completely frozen, if not dead. If she gave to the unconsciousness that she longed for, surely the predators of the forest would take advantage and kill her before the cold could. If she slept now, the man might come and leave, not sparing even a glance for the foolish woman who had not even bothered to stay awake to meet him.
But even as these thoughts passed through her mind, the woman felt her body slowly sinking into a state of sleep. Her thoughts eased into dreams, and her worried face relaxed to an expression of peace. Her shivering limbs slowly become still, and a soft tear froze on her cheek.
***
A man flew in the night, his dark figure clashing against the view of stars above. His layers of soft white hair flew about his head. Were it not rooted to his skin, his hair would have flown away long ago during his adventures in the sky. He grinned, and flipped his head about in an attempt to stop his hair from whipping in his face. The man flew alongside an owl, who hooted at him indignantly. The man winked teasingly at the owl, though the creature did not understand the gesture. The owl hooted again loudly, and then descended to the treetops below. It landed on a bare tree branch and ruffled his dark feathers, annoyed.
The man grinned and laughed, and extended his wings wider apart, taking advantage of an updraft of wind. He flexed his snow white wings easily as he glided, having mastered the art of flight long ago. He held his arms out, preferring his shoulder blades be aligned with the extension of his wings. He glided along slowly, taking his time to enjoy the crisp feel of the night. His chest was bare, as there was no shirt yet created to accommodate his wings. His bright eyes shined in the night, blending with the stars above him.
As the man came to a clearing deep into the wild forest, he descended upon a tall rock that protruded from the frozen ground. He landed on his bare feet with a soft thump, and shivered at the cold touch of stone under his feet. No matter how much time he spent in the air, he always had to bring his feet back to the ground, as they were meant to be.
As he stood and glanced into the trees around him, he realized how cold the night really was. Without the adrenaline to keep him warm as he flew, the true temperature of the night touched his skin, raising the hair on his head and making him long to fluff his feathers for warmth. He made do by wrapping his wings around his tall body like a thick coat, shielding him from the cold air that caressed his body with the weight of the impending winter. Soon winter would come, and he would not be nearly as visible in the sky when his wings blended with the falling snow.
The man stepped off his rocky perch, and landed on a patch of frozen moss, that clung to the warm skin on his feet. He skimmed through the trees with his eyes, feeling lighthearted after the flight. Where was she? He’d come here to meet a young woman, but she wasn’t by the tall rock. Had something happened to her? Or had she not come?
The man felt his previous state of elation dissipate as a tendril of anger rose from his pride. His bright eyes darkened, and he unwrapped his wings from around his body. He braced his feathers, preparing to fly away, when he heard a soft whimper from behind him. He stopped, and lowered his wings. He turned and walked around the rock, stumbling slightly over a frozen tree root, and beheld a small woman with a cloak of silver hair. She was on her feet, leaning back into a tree shrub. She was asleep on her feet, her head rested back on the branches. Her cheeks were cherry red with the cold, and her pale, bare arms were wrapped around herself. She wore a thin black shirt that wrapped tightly against her skin, and a long, thin, black skirt. Her fingers were red, and her eye lashes were frosted. She breathed weakly, her chest rising and falling in shallow whispers. She was cold, alone, and he knew she had been crying, because there was a tear still frozen on her cheek. Pity welled up in the man’s heart, and he regretted having even considered leavening her here alone.
Once again, the man tucked his wings in around his body. He approached the woman with light footsteps, not wanting to wake her from what he was sure to be a much needed slumber. The man extended his arms to her from beneath his cloak of feathers, and embraced the poor, chilled woman, no larger than a child. She did not stir as he lifted her from the frosted limbs of the tree, and took her cold body into his warm arms. He wrapped his snowy feathers around them both, and walked back to the rock. He stepped onto the stone and climbed to the top. He stumbled once, without the use of his hands to steady him, but did not drop the sleeping woman. At the top of the cold rock, he spread his wings and jumped, flapping hard to keep himself airborne. It was difficult to fly with the small woman in his arms. Though she was nearly weightless in his strong arms, he preferred not to keep his arms close to his body as he flew.
The man flew across the forest, over a large river, and across several valleys before settling before a hill cottage. He knocked on the door, and a human man appeared. The winged man and the human man exchanged the girl from one set of arms to another, and then separated in silence.
