Sainte closed the gap between us, enfolding me in his embrace, his gaze scanning the swirling snow as though seeking a hidden path through its white veil.
Togamar’s words echoed in my mind, accusing me of weakness due to my lack of faith. She blessed me with a Valahant strong in belief, and according to her, Nothar protected me this far. If any god made an investment in me, it was him.
Seeking solace, I pressed my face into the warmth of Sainte’s cloak, my cheeks burning with embarrassment of what I was about to do. With eyes scrunched tight, I sent a silent plea into the icy air for Nothar.
Hear my prayer. Lead us straight and true. Guide us to your temple.
A naïve sense of hope gnawed at my resolve. There was no going back after this. If he answered, I would know they were real.
I kept my face buried against Sainte’s chest, his strong arm holding me tight as he waited for a clue as to the right direction.
Seconds passed, his grip grounding me in reality. Anger brewed within me, not aimed at the gods, but at myself for entertaining such fantastical notions. These dreams or visions were mere figments, not the fabric of my life’s reality, which I alone shaped.
The wind slapped my face with such cold and brutal force that I staggered. Sainte caught me, and I pulled my cloak tighter, struggling to pull in a breath of icy air.
Behind him, outlined against the snowy backdrop, stood a wolf.
Its fur blended with the drifts, but the gray eyes framed by dark skin sought my soul, its nose a black blot against the white landscape. It observed me, head lowered and ears pricked forward—alert but not aggressive.
I should have been afraid.
And I was, but not in the face of this predator come to rend me from limb to limb and consume my organs like delicacies. My fear stemmed from a different source. Nothar answered my prayer.
A shiver ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
Sainte spun, following my wide-eyed stare, then his grip on me tightened.
“Nothar sent him!” I shouted over the wind’s roar.
The beast’s gaze held an eerie intelligence, a hunger lurking behind its measured movements. It licked its chops as if it would rather eat us, but instead of pouncing, it turned and vanished into the swirling snow. Without hesitation, Sainte lurched after it, determined to track the fleeting glimpse of white amidst the flurry. We plowed onward, drifts deepening to our knees, rising as high as our hips, each step a battle against the tempest.
I cursed Nothar and his choice of creatures. Couldn’t he choose something with darker fur? Always white, leaving us second-guessing if we followed the wolf’s trail or merely chased phantoms in the snow.
The wolf halted, and its dark nose swiveled toward us. Its chest was buried, yet I hadn’t seen it leap through the drifts, or leave any tracks.
“Here!”
Sainte tugged me along to an iron courtyard fence, and I peered over my shoulder one last time. Surely a ghost wolf could fend for itself in a Howl.
The scarf cinched around my waist, urging me forward as my Valahant carved a path toward the temple. When we reached the entrance, his breaths heaved as he rested his weight against the stone wall. I shot him a concerned look before I raised my fist to knock.
The door’s surface was rough and unfinished, lacking a handle for me to tug it open. The only indication that it led to the Temple of Nothar was the vivid painting adorning it. It depicted a striking image of a man, a god, with piercing green eyes. A crown of antlers graced his brow, his expression stern. His features were distinctive, with a long face, prominent cheekbones, a sharp nose, and thin lips. He held a terrible, fierce beauty, not conventionally handsome or appealing. His skin was as pale as milk, and his sun-bleached hair hinted at a subtle golden hue.
I swallowed hard. It felt as though I was being judged by those eyes, as if they could cut through my disbelief and lack of faith in the divine.
A gust shoved me forward as the door swung open, and I yelped, staggering as the robed figure stepped aside, parting the way for me to fall flat on my face. Thankfully, the woven rug of blue and green cushioned the impact.
As voices clamored and a crowd gathered, I groaned and rolled onto my side with a weakened smile. Exhaustion pulled at my eyes, slowing my blinks.
“We seek sanctuary,” Sainte called out, voice weak.
His slumped form showed his strain. He must have been more exhausted than me. Though, as I lay there on the floor, I had no desire to rouse myself, content to remain in a heap of cold, wet clothes.
At least he managed to stay upright.
“The Temple of Nothar receives you. We offer you hearth and home,” someone answered.
“There’s a wolf out there,” I mumbled, shivering against the damp chill gnawing at my bones.
