***
Sylviana lay propped on her elbows, her favorite fur half in and half
out of the entrance of the smaller cave, looking down on the snow-dusted
grasses with misting and faraway eyes. Her mood triggered by the scene,
she was thinking of the fragile water domes she had toyed with as a
child, all alone in the unused bedroom of her grandmother's
house. Christmas. Her mind conjured the room before her: the massive
four-posted bed, the mahogany dresser crowned with photographs of aunts
and uncles, the lace-curtained and frosting windows. And she remembered
one in particular, a Nativity scene, her favorite. She remembered the
way the tiny flakes would sift softly through the water and onto the
roof of the manger, only to be swept away again as she lifted the glass
dome and shook it. The water would swirl like a sudden wind, then the
flakes settle slowly.....
She was aware of movement on the plains below. Her eyes focused, and
she saw Kalus walking back towards the mountain through the snow-covered
grasses, turning his head from side to side, watching. Though he would
never admit it, she knew he was worried over Skither's extended
absence, and about its bearing on their safety and their future. He
stood at the edge of the gorge, looked up at her, then descended the
steep half-path of stone and was swallowed up in shadow.
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