beejai

My Brother's Keeper (2nd edit)

Defiantly, the tree held tightly to its one remaining leaf. As gust upon gust of wind ripped through its branches declaring to the world that an early winter had arrived in this barren land, the lead remained. Many others had fallen that day, but the last leaf obstinately held on. It was the last survivor in a seasonal battle that inevitably stripped the tree on, but still the leaf held on. The leaf held on. Finally, it could do so no more. The north wind battered its breath against the lonely tree until it managed to gain the upper hand, and the leaf broke free.
Riding the current of this frigid wind, the leaf floated and fluttered far from its home. Now rising, now falling, the curly edged, brown, dying and decaying leaf painted a lively counterpoint to the bleak, barren landscape that was part and parcel of early September in the north country. Spinning in its dance, this leaf finally came to rest on an unused path a short distance to the east of the lonely tree from which it was launched. As it gently touched down, the leaf was immediately ground into nothing by a big black boot.

Metope again pulled his hood tightly to his head. Another blast of wind struggled to lift it in while throwing daggers of cold to his nose and ears. He knew what he was in for when he agreed to seek the exiles out, but knowing it and experiencing it were two very different things. This is ridiculous he muttered to himself. Nobody can possibly live here. Removing his hand from deep inside its pocket he looked again at his Finder. Ever since he had left behind Trappers Point, he was beginning to doubt if Ravals invention truly worked. Everybody there tried to convince him that nobody lived this far north.
The Finder continued to point north. Metope shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and tried again to tighten his cloak against the frigid cold. He passed by the unnatural tree and continued in a straight line towards the even more unnatural mist that marked the north end of nowhere. As he trudged northward another gust of wind unbalanced the heavy package on his shoulders. Reaching up to better settle the weight created an opening near his neck and sent icicles of pain down his chest. Metope let out a painful cough and quickly tightened his hood. If it is this bad now, he thought, what must it be like when deep winter truly sets in?
Again the young man shrugged off the dreadful feeling that he was on a pointless suicide mission. There was nobody ahead and he was walking forward toward a lonely frozen death. He lowered his head and continued on. Metope knew what was in the package he was delivering. Well, he at least had a general idea of what it was. The thing was, no matter how hard he tried, no matter what angle he approached the mystery he could not fathom the implications of the delivery. His mind had been working on this mental puzzle since even before he first set out on this journey. The swords remained a puzzle that he still could not solve as he continued northward leaving hope and warmth behind and the cold and the cloud ahead.
As Metope reached the edge of the unnatural mist he paused. Although the wind blew as hard as ever, the mist did not seem to abate. He noticed that the mist was being blown away by the wind, but more replaced it coming up from the ground as quickly as the cold caused it to dissipate. With layers of clothing bundled around him he did not notice that as Metope cautiously moved forward the ground was incrementally becoming warmer. The wind grew gradually less, the mist continued to thicken until the traveller was completely shrouded by the unnatural fog.