on my neck, and a surprising gust of wind blows out the flames of the fire, leaving little more than embers to light the dark. Gwen whinnies, snorts, and I hear the sound of her hooves as she backs up.
“Do you see that?” Casimir asks.
I follow the direction of his gaze. A thick fog travels towards us. There is something unnatural about it that makes my heart skip a beat. The temperature drops dramatically, my muscles tense, and something tells me we have to get away from it. Fast.
Chapter Six – The Warmth to Live
A nta lets out a low, rolling groan, like a cry of pain or a shout of forewarning. Casimir leaps to his feet and removes his sword from the sheath at his hip with a metallic zing .
“You can’t fight fog with a sword. Can you?” I say. Even as I say the words I doubt them. This fog is somehow different to what I have seen before. It moves as though aware of its path. There is something preternatural about it that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.
“Have you got a better idea?” Casimir replies with a shrug. His eyes bulge out in terror.
I glance behind me, wondering if we can outrun the fog, but when I turn back, it has almost descended on us. With my heart in my mouth, I move closer to Casimir and remove the dagger from my belt. It has to be better than nothing. Gwen backs away, tossing her mane, churning the forest floor with her hooves.
“Maybe we should go back.” Casimir’s voice trembles as he talks.
“There’s no time.”
The fog slows down when it is just a foot away. Then it creeps forward, almost languishing on its journey towards us, inching closer like a dare. Challenge me . It seems to say. I’m here. Come to me.
Casimir strikes with his sword, slicing through the fog. He moves in agile arcs, controlling his weapon with both hands. A high-pitched squealing sound comes from the fog. It crackles like a burning fire. I join in with the prince, swinging my dagger in jerkier, more frantic movements than him. For a brief moment it seems to work, but then the fog darts forward to coat our skin.
The chill begins in my fingertips and works its way up my arms, making every part of my body feel heavier. Casimir exhales in rasps. My boots are touched by the slow spread of the fog as it swirls up around my legs like smoke, making me feel as though I’m rooted to the floor.
“What is it doing?” Casimir whispers. “Can you move?”
For some reason I don’t feel like I want to move. It’s not that I can’t move—it’s that I have no desire whatsoever to move at all. I shake my head.
“Me neither,” Casimir says dreamily. He sways from side to side. Watching him makes my eyelids feel heavy. Maybe I can have a rest... One little sleep... If I close my eyes...
Anta snorts and rears up, kicking out his front legs. Gwen neighs, and it echoes through the trees like a pealing bell.
“What’s wrong with them?” Casimir’s voice sounds far away. When I look at him, he is almost completely covered in the fog.
“I don’t know. Maybe...” The words are difficult to form. My mouth doesn’t want to work anymore; it wants to be still. My body longs to be still. “Maybe they don’t want us to go to sleep.”
“Why not?” Casimir says. “It would feel so good...”
“So good...” My eyes begin to close. The cold worms its way around my arms and legs the way that a poison seeps through blood.
Anta paws the ground with his hooves, snorting steamy breath into the cold air.
The fog cushions every part of my body, and I long to lean into it. I long to fall back into the fog like a soft, feather pillow. An old memory of my father pops into my head: the day I was sick and I had the flu, he lifted my head towards the spoon so I could eat my soup. That’s how the fog feels—it is a parent embracing my head, so I don’t have to do the work anymore.
But that isn’t right. I don’t have parents, and I don’t have anyone to lean back onto—certainly not a freezing cold
“Do you see that?” Casimir asks.
I follow the direction of his gaze. A thick fog travels towards us. There is something unnatural about it that makes my heart skip a beat. The temperature drops dramatically, my muscles tense, and something tells me we have to get away from it. Fast.
Chapter Six – The Warmth to Live
A nta lets out a low, rolling groan, like a cry of pain or a shout of forewarning. Casimir leaps to his feet and removes his sword from the sheath at his hip with a metallic zing .
“You can’t fight fog with a sword. Can you?” I say. Even as I say the words I doubt them. This fog is somehow different to what I have seen before. It moves as though aware of its path. There is something preternatural about it that makes the hair on my neck stand on end.
“Have you got a better idea?” Casimir replies with a shrug. His eyes bulge out in terror.
I glance behind me, wondering if we can outrun the fog, but when I turn back, it has almost descended on us. With my heart in my mouth, I move closer to Casimir and remove the dagger from my belt. It has to be better than nothing. Gwen backs away, tossing her mane, churning the forest floor with her hooves.
“Maybe we should go back.” Casimir’s voice trembles as he talks.
“There’s no time.”
The fog slows down when it is just a foot away. Then it creeps forward, almost languishing on its journey towards us, inching closer like a dare. Challenge me . It seems to say. I’m here. Come to me.
Casimir strikes with his sword, slicing through the fog. He moves in agile arcs, controlling his weapon with both hands. A high-pitched squealing sound comes from the fog. It crackles like a burning fire. I join in with the prince, swinging my dagger in jerkier, more frantic movements than him. For a brief moment it seems to work, but then the fog darts forward to coat our skin.
The chill begins in my fingertips and works its way up my arms, making every part of my body feel heavier. Casimir exhales in rasps. My boots are touched by the slow spread of the fog as it swirls up around my legs like smoke, making me feel as though I’m rooted to the floor.
“What is it doing?” Casimir whispers. “Can you move?”
For some reason I don’t feel like I want to move. It’s not that I can’t move—it’s that I have no desire whatsoever to move at all. I shake my head.
“Me neither,” Casimir says dreamily. He sways from side to side. Watching him makes my eyelids feel heavy. Maybe I can have a rest... One little sleep... If I close my eyes...
Anta snorts and rears up, kicking out his front legs. Gwen neighs, and it echoes through the trees like a pealing bell.
“What’s wrong with them?” Casimir’s voice sounds far away. When I look at him, he is almost completely covered in the fog.
“I don’t know. Maybe...” The words are difficult to form. My mouth doesn’t want to work anymore; it wants to be still. My body longs to be still. “Maybe they don’t want us to go to sleep.”
“Why not?” Casimir says. “It would feel so good...”
“So good...” My eyes begin to close. The cold worms its way around my arms and legs the way that a poison seeps through blood.
Anta paws the ground with his hooves, snorting steamy breath into the cold air.
The fog cushions every part of my body, and I long to lean into it. I long to fall back into the fog like a soft, feather pillow. An old memory of my father pops into my head: the day I was sick and I had the flu, he lifted my head towards the spoon so I could eat my soup. That’s how the fog feels—it is a parent embracing my head, so I don’t have to do the work anymore.
But that isn’t right. I don’t have parents, and I don’t have anyone to lean back onto—certainly not a freezing cold
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