There was no loose seam. No stretched portion. It looked completely untouched, except for the little bloodstains that appeared because of the little wounds on the youth's hands. He had struggled to shake off the force of the scythe's slash with his bow of ice. Unfortunately, the force was so strong, the ice dug into Moulin's palms, piercing through his skin.
With a relieved smile on his serene face, Moulin slowly lifted the delicate blue ribbon and elegantly tied up his hair. His eyes stayed low. Internally, he resisted meeting Emlen's face.
Slowly, the smoke dispersed and the area was revealed.
The ground was clean from snow. A dark layer of the soil met the gentle fluttering snowflakes falling from the gray sky. A huge triangular crater gaped before the snowfall and the two brothers were standing within its center. Their boots stepping on the slightly warm earth.
"Moulin..."
Emlen called out with a trembling voice.