Chapter 30

Version 2.0

The group started to leave the village as the sun peaked over the horizon. The air was new and fresh, and the quiet of the winter light enveloped them.

"Seriously, what's the connection between the child of the forest, the ritual, and ice spiders?" Jon pondered.

"And why is a child of the forest trying to create some kind of life ritual whilst in humans' lands, do they want to start another war," Edic asks.

Brandon shrugged, "We won't know until we find the child of the forest. The tracks of the spiders lead this way, to the North of here."

"We know why the ritual stopped through," Lyanna said.

"We do?" everyone asked as they turned to her.

"Whilst you guys were sleeping, and I was on watch I chatted a bit with Sara, seems she is pregnant, they only recently found out and once she was more along, she was going to tell the village."

"So, something got in the way of the ritual then, her pregnancy interfered with it," Edric asked.

"When Elder Oak talked about rituals, he said that everything needed to be perfect, and nothing could interfere with them," Brandon said.

"Rituals can be off?" Asked Jocelyn.

"Yep, like the one that flooded the neck down south, that was a ritual that had something off and so was not as powerful as it should have been. If the ritual is not done correctly it can fail like we saw here, or it can be weakened." He replies.

As the conversation continued, they reached the sick heart tree. Its appearance had worsened since their last visit. The bark oozes more of its sickly substance, as the branches droop as low as to touch the ground, though oddly its face did not cry any tears nor did it feel like it was following them around the clearing.

The group ventured towards the edge of the forest, tracing the path the child of the forest had taken and later the ice spiders. The snow-laden trees stood tall, their branches forming a lattice overhead, that played in the sunlight and the god rays.

The forest began to thin, and the air carried less of a cent and carried more of a biting whip from the wind. Eventually, they emerged from the dense woodland, greeted by a vast expanse of snowy plains stretching out before them. To their right, the land continued, flat and serene, while to the left, imposing mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks shrouded in mist.

The plains, once uninterrupted and expansive, merged gracefully with the mountainous terrain. The flat expanse of the plains flowed seamlessly into the foothills, transforming into a series of rolling hills that embraced the mountains with gentle support. The towering trees gave way to the foothills of the mountains, their roots entwined with the stony embrace of the earth.

The mountains sprawled across the landscape like a colossal snake's spine, stretching endlessly both to the north and south. Towering peaks, eternally coated in a pristine layer of snow, touched the heavens, their icy summits glistening under the sun's gentle caress.

Continuing the northward path, they ventured across the plains, each step crunching in the snow. The landscape was serene, and more relaxed than anywhere else. The journey unfolded against the backdrop of majestic mountains and vast, snow-covered plains.

As the group traversed the snow-covered plains, they came upon an abandoned village in this desolate landscape. The skeletal remains of once-vibrant structures stood like silent angels praying for the return of inhabitants. The timeworn walls bearing the weight of roofs now bowed under the burden of snow, most not succeeding in their task.

The windows of the vacant cottages stared blankly, their wooden shutters long gone, exposing the interiors to the merciless embrace of winter. The doors creaked on rusty hinges or simply fell away from the home. The silence of the open fields seeped through the village as not a single sound of life came from the village, total silence.

Yet amidst the ghostly remnants of the village, the group's attention was drawn to a lone farmstead on the fringes of the village. In a feeble attempt at survival against the harsh winter, the farmstead clung to life. Tattered barns and sheds leaned against each other, though signs of recent repairs of both walls and roofs stood out from their broken neighbours.

The farmstead's fields are now blanketed in a pristine layer of snow. Empty animal pens with collapsing roofs and empty troughs. The frozen landscape made its first noise as the winds cackled in joy as the last light of visage struggled to survive against it.

The farmstead was determined to have its last laugh as smoke still rose from its chimney.

"Our trail leads us here Bran. With the snow from last night there won't be anything left of it, what do you want to do." Jon said.

"Well, we got nothing else to go one, let's go see what is here." He speaks.

Approaching the farmhouse, the group found a weather-beaten structure that clung stubbornly to existence amidst the desolate winter landscape. The once-vibrant wood of the farmhouse's exterior had faded into a muted shade, worn away by countless seasons of wind, snow, and neglect.

The house itself stood through on its last leg, its sturdy frame defying the encroaching decay. The roof, although patched with rough-hewn materials, bore the weight of snow like a seasoned warrior. Windows with the shutters closed tight protect anything from getting past like a last-stand fighter.

As the group approached, the creaking of the farmhouse door echoed in the wintry stillness. Though closed it hung loosely from its hinges but groaned nonetheless.

Uncertain of what to expect, they knock on the door. A gruff booming voice responded from inside, "What do you want? If it's you bandits again then you can fuck off. I fucking smashed your gobs in last time, I'll bloody do it again." Followed quickly by the storming of creaking floorboards.

The door swung open, revealing a towering figure—a colossus of a man, easily towering over everyone, filling the entire door frame comfortably. He loomed in the doorway, stopping all the light from the interior of the farmhouse. Broad shoulders, laden with sinewy muscle, bumped against the side of the door whilst his head bowed under the doorway.

A deep dark red beard, grizzled and untamed, framed a face heavily scared and worn ragged by edges of age and stress. With fragrant brown hair matching his beard in its unkept state and his booming voice, he comfortably becomes the biggest presence in any room.

His sharp brown eyes vigilantly scanned the unexpected visitors with a mix of caution and curiosity. "What do you want," he grumbled, his voice a deep resonance that echoed through the farmhouse. The group exchanged glances, as they witnessed a human force of nature.