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"And now it is my turn," remarks Jiriss, in a melancholy tone. For a red-head, she has a kind of raw, natural beauty. You feel a sudden urge to stop her, but it's too late. She quickly consumes a small packet, and washes it down with ale. Fledgel looks on with concern to her, and then to you.
Fledgel's skinny frame seems awkwardly curled by this fire, and one arm is pretentiously on Jiriss' shoulder. Her face is still grimaced by the bitter taste of the medicine. Fledgel's jaw tightens; watching Jiriss squint is like tasting it again himself. You feel that you have known this girl for years. Jiriss is like no other friend you have known. And the skinny fellow, Fledgel, seems like a stranger to you. But everything is so blurry now.
The needle-trees loom, dozens of feet above you, cutting the light from the moon into shifty, bluish shapes. The snow is shallow, and wet. But that is not what causes you to shiver.
The hills seem to cascade away from the clearing, and in the distant valley, lies a small village. It's warm, golden lights contrast sharply with the cold, dank forest. Over the crackling fire, and the rustling tree-tops, you can hear the sounds of armed footmen approaching cautiously. Who are they? On this, your recollection remains foggy.
Jiriss speaks with a shaky voice, "Well, Burne, I n-never thought it would feel s-so strange." She looks at you with the same unknowingly deep gaze that you gave her just moments before. Certainly, she feels as you do - that things have changed. Have they changed for the better?
The sounds of the men approaching is gradually getting louder...
