Nzarel: The Horned Forest: Chapter 8

Chapter ~ 8 ~ (5833)

Just as she had predicted, Chase found the border before nightfall. In fact, it was only late afternoon when the massive trees and thick undergrowth gave way to soft, tamed woodland, with plenty of light still left in the day. Narukethal, it seemed, had carried her closer to the border, not further away from it. Though she didn't know where along the border she was, exactly, it wouldn't be very hard, if she could find a road, another thing she knew she would eventually come across.

After a while, she had been forced to do her best to crawl up in to a tree, and work her way up in to the canopy where the thick branches were as good as bridges. It was that, or risk getting a twisted ankle or a snake bite. The foliage along the ground was high enough, and thick enough, that she wouldn't have been able to see any obstacles in front of her, and she wasn't sure that the thick layer of fur wrapped around her boots would have protected her from either. Unless she wanted to toe her way delicately through the undergrowth, then treewalking was the way to go.

It had always surprised her, that Nzarel made their homes and lives in the Nzera, but never did much but work their way around the trees everywhere around them. Even Redge hadn't bothered to learn treewalking, though he could certainly climb one well enough. Only after she was on her own did she teach herself, and she had taught herself well.

With her size, there were limits, of course. A branch had to be strong enough to bear her weight without breaking outright, and bare enough that she wasn't constantly untangling herself from leaves and twigs snagging at her clothing and hair. The titans around the border were perfect for the purpose. If the Outsiders could ever survive in the Nzera, they could built whole cities in the canopy, with those wide limbs serving as roadways, and she doubted the tree would ever suffer for it.

Of course, now that she knew trees were thinking things, she wasn't so sure what affected trees. Certainly, if tiny creatures ran about on her arms, she wouldn't be so sanguine about it, but if that were the case, they would all have thorns in their bark to keep away every other animal off of them. “Their lives are so very different than yours,” Narukethal had said. Now that she was actively thinking about the differences, her mind spun.

After a few days of gloom, Chase had to admit that soft, open woods were a beautiful and welcome change. While ten of her may not be able to reach around a tree in border territory, out here, she could easily wrap her arms around a trunk and be able to touch her elbows. The treetops were close to her, sometimes to the point where she had to duck or risk getting her hair caught, and the round was even and covered thick with leaves.

And most beautiful of all - she could see the sky. It sat above her, incredibly blue, filled with fluffy clouds and songbirds, all sharply contrasted in the low, slanting sun. The world had been painted in gold, and though it really was all very tame and manageable, it was pleasant. She couldn't imagine possibly being able to camp here safely, but, clearly, there was worse territory to travel through.

For the first time that day, she scouted out a place to sit down and have something to eat besides dry travel rations. She found a cove of boulders, and sat up against the rock so she could rub her sore back on the rounded surface. With all of the dry foliage around her, she didn't even have to get up to gather firewood, or even rocks for a safe firepit. Everything was easily within reach. Sometimes she'd have to roll over on to her hip to get her fingers closed on something, but she didn't have to stand. Her muscles thanked her for her kindness.

Once she had a fire going, she took out a piece of the rabbit meat she'd obtained a few days before. As salted as it was, it would be days, maybe weeks, before it went bad, but she doubted it would have the chance to wait that long.

To celebrate her safe passage through the border—or, at least the fact she was still in one piece afterwards - she even brought out a spice cloth. It was a special invention of hers, a thick, pulpy paper made from hickory bark and powdered herbs. She wrapped it around the haunch, pinning it in place with a sharp piece of bone, then stuck it through firmly on a stick.

As the flames cooked the meat, they would slowly burn away the spice cloth, letting the flavored smokes burn in to the meat, and the spices sink in to it. They were difficult to make, and took many hours of gathering and preparation, so she only pulled them out when she declared a special occasion. Or, sometimes, simply when she had gone too long without treating herself. It was always possible to make more, but she liked to conserve things, lest she run out and be left with no choice in the matter.

To further celebrate, she took out a smooth wooden bowl from her carrier. She had finely polished it, and painted lacquer on the inside so that liquids wouldn't soak through. It bore the intricate marks of her boredom on the rim and exterior, taking the form of awkward, interlocking branches and leaves. The designs she made on her belongings when she grew too idle were never planned, so they often looked unfinished and uneven, but anything, in her opinion, was better than a hopelessly plain surface on something she could make interesting.

She brought out a ration bar, one made from grain, wincing as she tapped it against the side of the bowl. The thing was as hard as the stone behind her. With some effort, she broke it in to more manageable pieces, then crumbled it in to the bowl. She heat her waterskin over the fire, then poured some of its contents on to the grain, and started stirring.

The resulting mash may not have looked very enticing, as dull and lumpy as it was. But nearly invisible wisps of steam rose from it, and she cut some of the sizzling fat from her meat and mixed it in as well, for flavor. Fresh, spiced meat, and porridge. It was hardly elegant or refined, but the lack of those qualities made her small feast even better in her eyes. She'd never done well with refinement.

She didn't spend much time eating, wanting to find a safer place to sleep before dark came. She did, however, take enough time to savor her meal. For a moment, she was sorry for Kisa. The girl never bothered to add flavor to anything, simply taking whatever food came her way completely plain. She couldn't imagine going through her life with no treats. Her tricks didn't even come from Outsiders. Should she chose to isolate herself, she would still be able to pull off some sustenance that still didn't leave her taste buds wanting.

Chase pulled herself to her feet when she was finished, kicking dirt on to the smoldering fire. She stomped on it a few times to be sure even the odd spark was extinguished, then shouldered her carrier again and turned away from the Nzera and towards the road.

With the taste of grain and gristle still in her mouth, she continued on, this time at a more leisurely pace. She kept her strides long, but she wasn't so worried about keeping a straight course. She still had daylight left, and she was enjoying herself immensely, after the crazy gloom of the border.

She nearly stumbled over the road when she found it. It was narrow, hardly more than a well-traveled game path, but that meant that someone out there used it, and often. She studied the trail, confused for a moment. Three bands of plain dirt stretched off in both directions, one curving gently away out of her sight, and the other turning abruptly about thirty paces from her. She couldn't imagine what would make three tracks, or travel three abroad often enough to stamp out the grass. Then she realized that it was made by cart wheels, and the line through the middle was formed by the hooves of a horse or bandle.

Clearly, this wasn't a very popular roadway. If she went the wrong direction, she would likely end up at the front door of an isolated cottage, with a balding old man threatening her with a hatchet. Not only that, but she would have to backtrack all that way, and she wasn't sure how far this trail went. The right direction would more than likely take her to a main road, or straight in to a town.

The problem was that, from her position, there was no way to tell which way was which, and she wouldn't be able to tell until she chose a direction and reached the end of the path. Chase sighed, running the fingers of her right hand through her hopelessly tangled curls. The woodland here was thin, but too low for her to bother trying to get her bearings from higher ground.

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, and resignedly chose the right at random. For the second time today, she was having to make random decisions, and it really wasn't beginning to grow on her. If anything, it itched at her conscious, and felt as though she were losing her touch.

“This is what happens when I pull myself from the Nzera. I actually get lost. Brilliant.”

Chase may not have been annoyed by even this, but for the fact that late afternoon was threatening to turn in to early evening before long, and she didn't like being caught out in the open out here. So she picked up her pace, lengthening her stride until each step stretched her legs out. She hoped she reached a road soon, and that it would be only a short ways from there to a place where she could sleep behind a locked door.

* * * * * * * * *

“Well, of course I would be right about being wrong. How else would the world make sense?”

Chase leaned against the tree beside her, staring at the clearing before in disbelief, as though, if she stared at it long enough for her eyes to become unfocused, then blinked, it might go away.

She tried. It didn't work.

She had spent an hour walking through dwindling light, and the path had finally ended, just in front of a small cottage made from uneven logs, built in the middle of a clearing she guessed was made by cutting down trees for those logs. Granted, she didn't see an old man with a hatchet coming at her, but it was a bit much.

On the bright side, no smoke rose from the chimney, and there didn't seem to be any lights coming through the shutters. If the place was as uninhabited as it looked from the otuside, she might have gained a place to sleep after all.

She smiled evilly, thinking of what Kisa, or any like her, would say to the dwelling. Something very simpleminded about it stinking like Outsiders and she ought to find a place to camp that didn't involve walls. Sometimes, she had to wonder if some Nzarel were just Outsiders with an addiction to remaining outside in the cold, as exposed to the elements as was possible.

Chase gathered her inspiration from the Nzera itself, especially the small predators, like foxes and lynx. One of their simpler lessons was that if there was an abandoned den nearby, it was perfectly useable, and it was fair game for whoever stumbled across it first.

Now she had only to hope that it truly was abandoned. She checked her surroundings first, then walked lightly in to the clearing. She tried to keep her feet on dirt or rocks that would hide the sounds of her footfalls. If there was anyone in there, the last thing she needed was the sound of crinkling grass to alert him to her presence. Perhaps he wouldn't be bald with an axe, but he could be a strong woodsman with a quick eye for archery.

Or, with her luck, it could be the home of a rabid bat, and she wouldn't even get to blame Outsiders for her demise. Death by a creature as small and typically harmless as a bat; one of her more secret fears was very cruel irony, and that fit the ticket too well.

She shivered, pushing the thought aside as she focused intently on the moment. Every few seconds, her eyes would dart from one side to the other, checking the ring of trees around her for signs of movement, but nothing showed. Keeping her breathing level, she tip-toed towards one of the small windows, staying crouched down low, and silent.

With her pinky, she delicately pried one of the shutters open, revealing the dark, dank interior of the building. It smelled of dust and stagnant air, but any other smells, signs that another human had been within recently, were lost to her dulled, human senses.

The room seemed empty, both of life and any signs of it. She took one last look around her, and then ducked towards the front door, easing it ajar and sliding in. Only after it was closed firmly did she relax, leaning against the shut door as she let out a sigh of relief.

The cottage was one room and a pantry with a dirt floor. The caulk in the walls was thick, nearly hiding the logs completely, but it was clearly shipping, and small holes had formed throughout the structure. The roof was thatched with clusters of long, spindly branches and twigs, which had shed dead leaves on to the floor.

There was no furniture, only some pots and pans made from earthenware or metal, lying half-buried in the dry soil. Much of the earthenware had cracked or broken completely, and the metal was rusting away slowly. The only thing in the place that might have counted as furniture was a squat wooden stool with only one leg left to its name, thrown in to a corner amidst a pile of splinters that Chase didn't doubt had once been the other legs.

There was some various other trash in the place. Torn, soiled blankets and other shreds of cloth caked with crusty mud were littered around the floor, some piling up in a corner. Chunks of rotting wood and bark were scattered against one wall, around a fireplace, as well as a thin layer of pale grey ash. Even some small animal bones had found their way in to the mess.

It was a haven for insects and spiders, and she'd have to be careful about what she tried to pick up and turn over, but it would do. A clear spot in the middle of the floor would do fine for her, and if nothing else, she wasn't out in the open. She could deal with an animal coming along and discovering her, but humans were tricky, insatiably curious, and sometimes cruel. No, she would take her chances with the rabid bat, thanks very much.

Only after she had examined the room did she slide her carrier over her head and on to the ground, followed by her quiver and bow, then her weapons belt. The metal dropped on the rest of her things with several dull, metallic clangs of different pitches.

Out of curiosity, she picked her way towards the pantry, opposite the room from the fireplace. To open the door on it, she had to kick some of the rubble out of her way. The door came open with a poof of dust, and she jumped hurriedly sideways as a flurry of moths escaped. Inside, there wasn't much. Instead of the remains of food, or even places to store food, she was met with a closet. Inside were some forgotten, moth-ridden cloaks. Their hems crumpled against the floor, and the moths had made holes as big as her wrist in the fabric, but once upon a time, this had been good, sturdy material.

She turned away, leaving the door open, when something glinted out of the corner of her eye. Her head whipped around from instinct at the movement, and it flashed again before she was looking straight at the closet. She frowned, slowly turning her head until the light hit the thing just right, and she could tell where the shine was coming from.

She reached in, fumbling more or less blindly for the thing. Something crawled slowly over her hand, making her arm freeze and the rest of her jolt with a cold shiver. She waited for it to pass, then kept going. Her fingers brushed just stiff, soiled cloth, then…

There!

They closed on something cold and metallic. It was lodged in one of the robe pockets, mostly hidden. She pulled it out gently, sliding it up first, and then pulling it out in to the half-light near a window with a broken shutter.

It was some kind of pin, though for what she couldn't guess. It looked like fine, polished silver, but wasn't tarnished at all, only a little grimy. It was a small figurine of carved antlers draped with flowers, all shaped in a half circle the size of her palm. The artist who had made it, for surely only an artist could accomplish such a thing, had formed faceted pieces within the flowers' centers, making them glitter faintly. From each antler tip along the curved edge of the figure, a small, delicate chain draped down, most of them entangled with others, and each weighted down with a drop of silver added to the last link. A long, thin rod came off the bottom of the figure, as long as her hand with a blunted point at the end.

It looked like a pin, at least, though she couldn't figure out what it was for, exactly. It was too blunt to try piercing clothing, and too long and heavy to try. But it was a beautiful piece. It shamed her attempts at whittling wood, and the odd, curling shapes of the antlers, the way the flowers laced through them, captivated her. She tested its weight in her hand, and took it immediately to her carrier, storing it in a mostly empty pouch beside Redge's letter.

After that, she settled herself down beside her things, crossed her legs, and resigned herself to an hour or so of drumming her fingers on her knee. She wasn't tired enough to try going to sleep yet, but there wasn't much she could do to occupy herself with so little light. She couldn't very well continue on now that she'd found shelter, but until sleep claimed her, she would be bored. She would have worked on some of her whittle work, maybe trying to emulate the design on that pin, or stake, whatever it was. But she would have to light a fire, but she'd have to do that in the fireplace to ventilate the smoke, and she didn't want to risk someone seeing the smoke and coming to investigate.

She couldn't even sing to occupy herself, as that would be nearly as bad as the smoke. So instead, she cleared the rubble from the dirt around her, rolled her together in a spare, outside flap of the carrier, and moved the whole bundle so that she could rest her head on it once she was stretched out in the cleared ground.

And there she lay, awaiting sleep to come claim her so her mind wouldn't get to wander too far.

* * * * * * * * *

“I'm not sure what you want me to do with the girl, honestly. She's just not manageable.”

“Any child is manageable, Agamma. It's not her fault if you are incapable of handling her.”

“Oh, don't give me that, Rithers. She's been a strange one since she was born, and it's only become harder to deal with her.”

Charisse crouched outside the private room's thick door, her ear pressed close to the crack between it and the doorframe. She bit her lip anxiously, her eyes left unfocused, trained somewhere on the threadbare rug, letting her ears become her dominant sense. Mrs. Dashlom and Master Rithers were within, arguing over her.

She had to admit, it made her feel terribly important that she was worth the bother, but her conspicuity was going to cost her. A small boy was crouched opposite her, his little ear pushed right up against the frame until his left eye was hidden in pudgy folds of squashed skin. The one she could see roved wildly around the hallway, until it looked like a bright blue honeybee buzzing in his eye socket.

He was only six, three and a half years younger than her, nearly to the day. But she had taken him under her week when she discovered he liked spending time with her. To him, she was a big kid, an ample source of knowledge, protection, and adventure. She didn't feel like she met the expectation, but the scrapes he followed her in to satisfied him.

“How exactly is this girl so difficult? Hmm? Honestly, Agamma, if you think she's so much more odd than every other kid that's gone through here, please. Explain!”

“It's hard to put a finger on, Rithers. She'll stare out a window for hours on end, if you let her. And heaven forbid you take your eye off her for even a moment when they play outside in the yard. She walks off towards those trees in the back like a person possessed!”

“So she likes the unknown. And this makes her unique? She'll get over it.”

“Oh, that's hardly it at all, Rithers. You ass of a man, you're not understanding.”

Even through the door, Master Rithers's whiny voice was frighteningly restrained. Charisse had heard that tone before, and she tensed instinctively, expecting the furnace within him to spit sparks straight through the door. “Is that all you would like to say, Agamma?” Even Mrs. Dashlom quailed at hearing him speak like that.

“She's also defiant. She's willful and disobedient, and resists punishment.”

That wasn't fair! Mrs. Dashlom picked on her almost exclusively, giving her the worst chores all the time. Of course she wouldn't stand for that when she didn't have to! The bruises on her shoulders proved that Mrs. Dashlom thought otherwise, though.

“Cha'isse?” The little boy still had the side of his head squashed against the door, but he was looking at her with his open eye. He voice had a heavy northwestern accent that didn't accommodate the `r' in her name, or many other words, for that matter.

“Shhh. Shush, Deme. We need to hear.”

“But Cha'isse, what do you think they're gonna do to you? If Mastah Withers agrees with her?”

“I don't know. I really don't know.”

There was silence within, but Charisse could feel the tension buzzing from within.

“So you want to punish the girl for disobedience, when you pay no mind, in comparison, to the boys who go around putting snails in the girls' blankets?”

“Well, don't put it that way—“

“I'm not interested in this conversation, Agamma. If I notice something, I will be sure to deal with the girl myself. Until then, you can just do your best to not be inadequate, no?”

“That's the whole point, though. I can't—“

“Until you can bring me something worth punishing, I don't plan to.”

Oh, Master Rithers, that dear sweet man. Well, Charisse reasoned, that wasn't particularly fair. He was on old codger who looked like a molting rat with a temper to match it, and he could be awfully mean when he wanted to be. But compared to Mrs. Dashlom, he was fair. And besides all, anyone who yelled at Mrs. Dashlom had an ounce of her respect.

“Rither, you dolt—“

“I would appreciate it if you left.”

Oh, no. Charisse stood up as silently as she could, grabbing Deme's hand and pulling him with her. Holding a finger to her lips, she inched away from the door, down the hallway.

“Oh, they should never have—“

“OUT, DASHLOM!”

As soon as Master Rithers shouted, Charisse bolted, pulling a stumbling six-year-old behind her. Their bare feet pounded on the wood floors, rounding the corner of the hall just as Mrs. Dashlom stormed from Master Rither's private working room.

They leaned against the wall, sliding down to a sitting position, Deme slumped against her arm. The rush of adrenaline from fear of discovery made their breaths come in short, wheezing gasps.

“Oi. Now, that was a close one, wannit?”

“Yeah Deme,” she panted, smiling faintly. “I'm glad we got away without a scratch.”

“But Missus Dash-a-lom ain't happy. What's she gonna do to you?”

“I don't know.”

“Neither do I, Cha'isse.”He hugged her calf, curling up scared beside her. Smiling kindly, she hugged him close with one arm. He gave her the devotion of a little brother. In return, she did her best to act like a big sister. It was a role she found to be not completely disagreeable.

“You know something, Cha'isse?” His bright blue eyes were turned up to her. Half of his pudgy face was red from being pressed against the door frame.

“What's that?” She stroked a hand through his blond hair. It was messy and needed to be washed, but the straight strands were fun to run her fingers through.

“Missus Dash-a-lom scares me.” Charisse smiled reassuringly, pinching his chin affectionately.

“Don't worry, Deme. I won't let her get you.”

* * * * * * * * *

Strange dreams stirred Jame early. He sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily. The sky outside of his window was grey and blue. For a moment, he considered going back to sleep in that wonderfully warm bed, hiding underneath the covers before he got thrown in to the wild.

Then he remembered the kind of place he was in, and dragged upright. It was an effort to convince his body to move aside the thick blanket and swing his feet around until they hung off the edge of the bed, but he got there.

Someone had come in through the night and stoked the fire, so the rest of the room wasn't so much cooler than the bed. Either he had was a much deeper sleeper than he wanted to admit, or the servant who had come in was extraordinarily quiet.

The servant had also hung his clothes near the fire so that they would be warm for him when he woke. They were dry, but the warm cloth felt good against his skin.

As he tugged on his stubborn boots and laced them up his shins, he considered what he could do with the spare time he had gained, thanking his weird dreams the whole time for waking him. First, his stomach argued audibly, he would get some breakfast if he could find it. Then, he would explore Trima, figuring out some of the nooks and crannies of the place.

An elven city… it was too good to believe. He had been sure that to see one of them, he would have to travel across the continent, but it seemed he was luckier than that. So many questions came in to his mind when he thought about the small, closely guarded community.

What were elvens doing west of the Mist Mountains, anyways? Why would they be so separated from the rest of their people? How did they get here? How long had they been there? Were there other cities like this one? How many other people knew of them and kept their secret? What about their ears?

The ears were something he hadn't even thought of in the whirl of everything. The rest of their physiology matched the general descriptions, but he couldn't remember seeing any of the significantly pointed ears they were said to have. With so many overlaps in human and elven body structure, the ears of two races were the great indicator.

Well, of course he hadn't seen any of their ears. They all wore their hair long, or had been wearing hoods as they passed. He wasn't sure if this was normal for them, or if they all only covered that part of them when humans entered the town.

In any case, the extra time would give him a chance to find out. He pulled his cloak from the bottom of his pack, giving it a good flourish as he settled it over his shoulders. It was a heavy thing made to repel the elements, with a layer of oilcloth sewn between the shell and lining, both different shades of gray-green, with a heavy lining on the bottom to keep it draped close to his body, not swirling about madly.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair, hoping the loose curls would behave themselves for a time until it didn't matter what they looked like. When he deemed himself ready, he left his room, closing the door quietly to keep from waking Lokir in the room beside him.

The corridor was much cooler than his room, and without any windows and only a gleam of magelight, dark. It reminded him of being in a cave, and for a moment, he got a flash of waking up in the Rat's Grin, completely disoriented and hung over. That had been the morning Borden decided to drag him along with him. Jame silently thanked him for that, realizing that he never would have found Trima or any place like it without his company.

Somehow, he meandered through the maze of the upstairs, towards the stairs. Although dawn had yet to break, there was a murmur of sound and smell coming up from the small dining hall below him. There was the delicious smell of eggs, and another he didn't recognize that still set his mouth to salivating. He wondered if there was such a thing as a mediocre meal in this house.

He was stunned to see Lokir already eating below with some of the servants. “Now, what are you doing out of bed so early, old man? I didn't think you or Borden would be up for a few hours, at least.”

Lokir's response was a grunt, and a firm spoonful of mixed egg.

Okay. He wasn't in much of a talking mood, was he?

A servant appeared beside him with a plate full of food and a cup of water, then darted away as quickly as he had come. Jame strained to get a look at his ears, by the man's shaggy hair came down to the base of his neck, completely covering his ears. Where he had grown up, he knew a servant with hair so long who didn't pull it back would have been punished. He was glad Kailenna ran a fairer household.

He sat down across from Lokir, nearly inhaling his breakfast. The other smell came from the meat, a fried sort of ham with a flavor that could best be described as sweet. It wasn't as wonderful as the dinner had been, but then, he reasoned, this was no formal sort of function, with official guests. In fact, from what he gathered, this was the servants' meal. That made sense, considering the Kailenna and Fallet wouldn't be awake so long before the sun was.

When the redhead had polished the crumbs from his dish, he finally answered Jame, the sudden utterance startling Jame from his methodical eating. “I would like to run a few errands while we're here. See a few friends, like. And you?”

“I got in my own way sleeping this morning. I figured, so long as I was up, I might as well do some exploring.”

“Well, that's fine. Try and be back no more than an hour after sunrise. We'll be heading out.”

Jame nodded, continuing to suck down his morning meal. He wanted to get out as soon as possible, so he could get as much time to himself as possible. Lokir stood up, leaving his plate at his seat, and walked off without another word to go run his errands.

He refused an offer on seconds once he had finished, and washed the lot down with the water. It hit the back of his throat in a rush of coolness. Even the water in Trima tasted good, almost sweet.

When he had finished, he left his plate where it ahd been, following Lokir's lead, and left the room. He remembered that the entrance hall was somewhere at the end of his hall, there! The room was cavernous, and almost completely dark. Just a few torches cast their dim light over the room. The pale wooden floors glowed, reflecting the dull light.

He took a moment to get a good look at the room he had been rushed through so quickly yesterday. The two staircases on either side of the room curved with the rounded walls, joining together at a dais looking down on the entrance hall, columns supporting the ceiling. Heavy drapes were pulled around the balcony, blocking out completely what was behind it. Somewhere in there must have been Kailenna's personal quarters, perhaps the private rooms for the family.

Portraits and tapestries were hung all over the room, though he couldn't make out any details, or even any colors. They were all different sizes, with different kinds of hangings, frames, mats, and even fringe, and weren't hung in any sort of distinguishable pattern. He suspected that every time a new portrait was added, all of the portraits around its prospective spot had to be relocated and respaced, perhaps disrupting the entire room.

He sighed, supposing he wouldn't be able to see anything more specific until after more lights were brought in to the room. He hoped he would have a chance before he had to leave Trima.

The air outside hit him like a blast, the sudden shock of cool air not expected at all. It was always cooler than expected so long before the sun rose, but he wasn't used to being fully awake this time of day. Even in the summer, the temperature would drop a great deal through the night, and waking up early meant he would have to deal with it.

He shuddered. He didn't like the cold.