Chapter Text
The winter is unrelenting.
Even without the usual strong winds, icicles form wherever they can reach and the ground is covered in thick sheets of snow, making it too harsh for outsiders. But he doesn't have much choice with no house to keep warm in; he wears tattered clothes stolen from summer washing lines and shoes a few sizes too small. His dark hair is matted and windswept, his eyes filled with hunger. He sits sprawled on the side of a cobble road deep in the heart of the town, shifting to lean against the wall of a house behind him.
Rid of any baby fat and too small for his age, he huddles into himself and waits in vain for the pity of a stranger to save him. The snow is picking up again, falling with renewed vigour onto the filthy streets. The boy with the dark hair watches as the people of Varsha rush about, practically drowning in animal skins and thick furs as they go about their business.
Throughout the day, a few people stop to throw pennies in his direction, not enough to help him in any real way, but enough to make them feel like they have done a great service to the town.
How sad, he thinks as he stumbles to his feet, the tolling of a bell in the distance signalling his queue to leave. How sad.
Soon enough he has shuffled through the knee-deep snow to a long-abandoned brick building, one of many in the outskirts of Varsha. Reaching a side window covered by roughly hammered wood planks, the boy hoists himself up to the ledge and, lifting one of the planks, clambers into the building.
A long corridor greets him on the other side, cobwebs lining the ceiling and leaves strewn across the floor.
Straight ahead, a flickering of flame threw shadows across the corridor as it escapes a slightly ajar door.
She'll be mad.
A deep breath in and the boy strides towards the door, faint murmurs reaching his ears as he swings it open.
On the other side is a spacious living room housing a large lady with greying hair as she rocks backwards and forwards on an old chair. A pile of wool lies on her lap as she knits, the metal needles echoing a rhythmic click clack through the silence.
A fireplace fit for a castle roars at her feet and the mantlepiece above it is weighed down with piles of books. The boy wishes he could understand the letters if he should open one of them; he had heard from others like him that they held new worlds in them. Though, now he thinks about it, that couldn't be true. Whole worlds contained in pieces of paper? What nonsense! Still, it would be nice to know for sure.
A rough clearing of the throat from the old lady kicks him from his spiralling thoughts, and he makes his way in front of her.
Her eyebrow quirk up, her eyes scanning him enquiringly.
"Well, boy?”
He still struggles to understand some spoken words, but the routine of the negotiation means he knows what is expected of him. Stuffing his hand into the soggy old leather pouch at his hip, he pulls out the half dozen coins given to him throughout the day and holds them out to her.
Bony, too-warm hands scrape the coins from him, greed darkening the woman's eyes.
"Less and less with each day that passes," she mutters, turning each coin in turn and inspecting them. Her knitting lies strewn and forgotten on the floor.
"It's a wonder I give you anything at all, boy!" she barks.
At the raise of her voice the boy winces slightly, taking a few steps back as the woman rises with difficulty from her chair, pocketing his coins.
She waddles slowly towards the fire and pushes a few logs around with a poker. A billow of smoke carries with it the alluring smell of cooked meat.
"I should think two is fair."
She carefully removes a metal rack from where it balances above the flames, strips of now slightly burnt bacon draping off of it. The boy rushes forward and grabs two, one in each hand. They are scolding and sting his still cold hands, but the hotter the better. He quickly stuffs them into his pouch and bows his head to the woman.
"If that’s all, be off with you! And I won't be as forgiving if you keep failing so pitifully!"
With that, the boy scampers back the way he had come, not regretting his speed until he is back too soon in the frigid outdoors.
He bows his head to block his face from the worst of the icy air and ducks into a nearby alleyway, eager to fill his empty stomach. Squatting down behind a heap of garbage, he fishes the rapidly cooling bacon strips from his pocket and shovels them into his mouth, making sure to tear a bit off for later. Though very fatty and too dry, the scraps of meat taste heavenly in his mouth, and he almost feels bad for eating it so fast.
Within moments he eats the first piece, but just as he starts ripping bits off the second to save, a shadow in the corner of the alley shifts.
Bloodshot eyes and razor teeth pierce through the darkness. Scrambling to his feet, the boy backs up towards the mouth of the alley without taking his eyes off the monster. Suddenly the monster leaps out of the shadows and bounds towards the boy, snarling and snapping its teeth at him. It lunges on top of him before he can start to run, pinning him to the ground and scratching him as it gnashes its teeth at the meat still in his hand. The boy desperately tries to keep a grasp on it but the dog easily rips the strip from him and sprints out of the alleyway followed by a pack of other stray dogs.
A wave of exhaustion hits the boy and he rethinks trying to run after the beast. Blood starts to ooze from the deeper scratches and soak into his clothes, staining it a muddy red.
He shuffles into an alcove in the alley, tucked between piles of rotting wood, and huddles into himself, trying to make himself look even smaller than he actually is. He falls asleep to the whistling of the wind and the barking of wild dogs, watching his breath in the air and feeling the snow drift into his hair.