Chapter 35: Purple and Blue

The path ahead vanishes into white, forcing Giroud to navigate by the dark shapes of rocks and stunted trees that emerge from the endless white. His thighs begin to ache from maintaining balance as the horse picks its way up the increasingly steep slope.

Giroud notices the careful way Aya holds herself in the saddle, leaning forward until not an inch of her touches him. The memory of their shared warmth feels like a physical weight between them. He focuses on guiding their horse up the winding mountain path, where patches of snow grow more frequent with each bend they round.

The wind has died down, leaving behind a crisp mountain air. The depth of snow increases as they climb higher, their horse’s hooves sinking through the powdery surface. Sunlight sparkles off the snow-dusted rocks, almost peaceful enough to make him forget the awkwardness of their morning. Almost.

As they pass a dark cave mouth, a bone-rattling roar splits the air. Their horse rears up with a terrified whinny, nearly throwing them both. Giroud’s stomach lurches as two massive yetis drop from above the cave entrance, their white fur blending with the snow. Two more lumber out of the cave’s darkness, and a fifth emerges from behind snow-covered brush to their right.

“Perfect,” Giroud sighs, dismounting alongside Aya. He draws his sword while she reaches for her dagger.

Giroud charges the pair emerging from the cave, his blade singing through the air. The first yeti falls quickly, its throat opened in a spray of crimson. The second swings a massive arm that Giroud ducks under before driving his sword up through its jaw. It swings another wild punch before crashing to the ground in a heap.

Behind him, he hears Aya begin an incantation, her voice carrying the unintelligible dark resonance of void magic. A grunt of pain cuts her spell short. Giroud spins to see her sprawled in the snow, the fifth yeti’s massive hand still extended from its backhand strike. All three remaining beasts converge on her prone form, their shadows engulfing her small frame.

Giroud’s hand flies to his ankle, yanking free the dagger strapped there. With pinpoint accuracy, he hurls it at the nearest yeti’s flank. The blade sinks deep into grey-white fur, drawing an enraged bellow as the beast claws at its side.

His heart leaps as Aya suddenly springs to life. She rolls away from a massive fist that crashes into the snow where she lay just moments before. Her movements appear more like dance than combat as she weaves between the yeti’s legs, her blade finding its mark again and again. Blood blooms across the creature’s stomach in quick succession. Giroud can’t help but admire her grace as she uses the falling beast’s back as a springboard, launching herself skyward.

A roar draws his attention back to his own opponent. The yeti has wrenched his dagger free and cast it aside, blood matting its fur. Its eyes burn with rage as it charges, swinging wildly. Giroud steps around the first blow, ducks under the second. The third swing meets his sword, steel biting deep into flesh. The creature’s howl of pain echoes off the mountainside.

Movement catches his eye - Aya sitting on the final yeti’s shoulders. Her blade flashes once across its throat, opening a crimson smile. She rides the beast down as it collapses, maintaining perfect balance until it hits the snow.

Giroud refocuses on his wounded opponent just in time to avoid another clumsy swing. As the yeti favors its injured arm, Giroud sees his opening. He drives his sword up into its gut, feeling resistance give way as the blade finds its mark.

“Okay?” Giroud asks, trying to catch his breath.

Aya nods ‘yes’ and kneels down beside a felled yeti to wipe her blade clean.

“Wintersroot,” says Giroud, eyes catching the distinctive thorny stems poking through the snow. The dark blue leaves stand out against the white, growing in thick clusters where the beast had emerged. Steam still rises from the cooling yeti corpse beside the plants.

He kneels beside the shrub, drawing his knife. The barbed thorns glint dangerously in the mountain sunlight, each one as long as his thumb. With care, he cuts several thick stems close to the ground, avoiding the wicked thorns that could pierce even his leather gloves.

The severed stems ooze a milky white sap that immediately begins to crystallize in the cold air. A subtle purple tinge swirls within the white substance - exactly what Rolf had described.

“Here,” he says, turning to Aya. “Keep these safe in your pack. Don’t let the thorns catch on anything - they’re poisonous if they break the skin.”

He watches as she carefully wraps the stems in a spare cloth before tucking them away, her movements precise and deliberate. The awkwardness from earlier still hangs between them, but at least they’ve found what they came for.

Giroud guides their horse down the mountain path, it’s hooves crunching through patches of snow. The awkward silence weighs on him, but he forces himself to focus on their training.

“Let’s talk about that fight,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. “What did you learn from it?”

He feels Aya shift in the saddle in front of him, wrapped tightly in her blanket, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I made a mistake at the start,” she admits. “I shouldn’t have tried casting a spell at the yetis in front without keeping track of the one behind me. I wanted to pin down the two I could see, but...” She trails off, the frustration clear in her voice.

“Good observation,” Giroud nods. “Anything else?”

“Well...” The change in her tone makes him picture the smile he knows is spreading across her face. “You’re probably going to tell me the somersault onto the yeti’s shoulders was unnecessary.”