The Crying Wind

So, the summer came, after such a long winter. The weather took us by surprise, as it always does up here in the Wildlands. One day there was a howling gale and snow falling, even though the calendar called it the end of spring. Wearily, we dragged ourselves inside our furs once again for our patrols and trudged off into the wind.

Borca said, as he always did, when we set off: ‘Fuckin’ wind. Which ever way you face to always blows right in your face.’ We all laughed, as we usually did, and agreed. Borca was right though, whichever way you face, the wind always seems to blow straight at you. It is a sharp wind that steals the breath from your mouth and makes your eyes run. The locals, the Wildfolk, call it the crying wind, and all of us who spend time at this garrison know why. After all, they say it makes you cry so that you are prepared for when it steals everyone, and everything, you care about from you.

So we set off trudging around the routine march with the gale flinging barrel-loads of icy sharp snow into our faces, each thinking that this winter would never end and that we would all die frozen in the ice and snow; ice and snow that would never end.

Then, next day, it was summer and we woke to sunlight and birdsong and – for once – the air was warm. I threw the bedcovers back, letting the furs fall to the floor and just enjoyed the feeling of the warm sunlight, streaming in from the window, on my skin. Hella moaned and muttered in her sleep, but I ignored her and just lay there enjoying the sun, but only for a while.

For we all know that when the winter is over, that is when the savage tribes from the North come south, and this time - after such a long deadly winter - we knew we were no longer strong enough to stop them.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]