Page 197 of The Sun He Buried

“You stay here.”

I move both arms through the snow.

“I have made very little progress.”

His eyes close. Then he stands. “I’m coming back.”

“Bring my cloak.”

“I’m bringing you inside.”

“That too.”

He heads toward the hall. The door opens and closes, and quiet comes back.

Snow fills the place where his knees were. I breathe.

The cold should hurt more. It doesn’t.

Something drops into the drift beside me. I turn my head.

Eirik lies on his back one arm away, black coat open beneath the snow, silver mask pointed at the same storm.

I blink. He remains.

“Did you fall?”

“I was overcome by your excellent judgment.”

His voice has none of the blade from the training ground. I look up again.

“It’s beautiful.”

Eirik goes quiet. Snow lands on the silver and disappears along one purple line.

“The storm,” I explain.

“I understood.”

“You looked confused.”

His pale-green eye turns toward me. “Most people use other words.”

“Which ones?”

“Closed. Murderous. Inconvenient.”

“Those aren’t wrong.”

“Generous.”

“It can be all of them.”

He looks at the sky again. The purple eye has gone very still.

“It makes everything soft,” I say. “Even the roofs. Even the fence. Your trees hold all of it without breaking.”

“Several have broken.”