[au] an early snow

[the_seafarer]

It's only mid-autumn, as the Bar-year reckons, but one morning Caspian wakes early to find that the light coming through his window has that particular muted quality to it that only comes from sifting through clouds and a veil of snow.

And snow it is indeed, when he comes outside: it crunches pleasantly beneath his boots as his breath freezes in the air and his cheeks turn pink with the cold. Snow; and still it falls, silent and light.

He heads to the stables with the intention of finishing his chores quickly so he can let the horses out to frolic in it, whistling as he goes.

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[the_seafarer]

Caspian shakes his head. "How the Calormenes live there I'll never know," he says. "There's a story of a lost prince of Archenland who had been stolen away and grew up there, and how a Talking Horse of Narnia brought him home again across the desert, but it always sounded a terrible ordeal."

[sai_delgado]

Susan makes a face. “I like the snow better.”

[the_seafarer]

"I do, too," Caspian laughs. "And I expect even the tree-sisters would have trouble growing their garden in a desert."

[sai_delgado]

“I can’t imagine they’d care for it at all,” she agrees.

The rippling stream is closer now, and still spring-bedecked with flowers and green, green grass. Susan turns their steps toward the bank.

[the_seafarer]

"Nor I."

He swings their hands loosely between them as they walk along toward the stream's bank. Small, silvery fishes flit between the ripples and rocks in the water, coming to the surface now and again to suck down an unfortunate insect.

[sai_delgado]

She’s quiet, walking beside him, but not the quiet of someone unhappy or lost in thought - nay, Susan’s just content to be in the moment, say true.

A spray of violets draws her eye, and she crouches to brush light fingers over their petals.

[the_seafarer]

He smiles to see her, and the rich purple of the violets as well.

"When I see you in my mind's eye in Mejis," he says, "riding on the Drop, I see you surrounded by wildflowers."

[sai_delgado]

She looks up at him, smiling. “Thee aren’t wrong. Especially in the spring, but also in summer, all through.”

[the_seafarer]

"Beautiful," he says, smiling.

"We would find pockets of flowers in the deep woods, sometimes. Especially snowdrops, near the end of winter. That was always a cheery surprise."

[sai_delgado]

“Aye, I’d well imagine it,” she laughs, as she stands. “And the first signs of Wide Earth to come, too.”

[the_seafarer]

"Wide Earth," he says, helping her up. "Spring?"

[sai_delgado]

Susan nods. “Between winter and sowing,” she tells him. “Early spring, as things are here.”

[the_seafarer]

"Wide Earth," he muses, as they walk along the stream bank. "A good name for it. When everything begins opening back up again."

[sai_delgado]

"Aye," she says, simply. "When all the brown starts greening, and the world's more than it were."

[the_seafarer]

"A sensible name," he agrees. If she feels a pang at the thought of harvest-time, he feels one when he thinks of spring – but it is an old, old ache these days. "Did you have a name for the summer season as well?"

[sai_delgado]

“It’s more that the seasons were divided,” she explains. “Into what agreed with the growing times.”

Susan squeezes his hand and then drops it to count off on her fingers as she recites, “Winter, Wide-Earth, Sowing, Mid-Summer, Full-Earth, Reaping —“

Oh, and there’s that slight shiver again; she can’t seem to help it, but continues,

“—and Year’s End, each with its own Fair Day, too.”

[the_seafarer]

He puts a hand on her back, a little concerned by that shiver.

"Are you cold, Su?"

[sai_delgado]

“Hm?” She blinks at him in surprise, but then realization hits and she shakes her head.

“Nay, I’m not cold. It were only the thought. It’s harder of late, because of the season, that’s all - but I’m fine,” she assures him.

[the_seafarer]

"The season?" His concern abates, but his uncertainty grows.

"Why's that?"

[sai_delgado]

“It’s - it’s fin de año, she tells him, softly. “Reaptide’s near, and Reap Night to follow. It’s what the people here call Hallowe’en, I wot.”

This time the shiver is more like a shudder, although she tries hard to hide it now.

[the_seafarer]

"Su," he says, a little alarmed, and puts his arm around her back to comfort her, drawing her near.

"Whatever it is, we needn't talk about it now, if it distresses you."

[sai_delgado]

She turns into the circle of his arm, into his embrace, and leans her head against his shoulder with a sigh. Susan lets her gaze wander over the spring-green grass and flowers as she murmurs,

“Say sorry, Caspian. I didn’t mean to upset thee. We needn’t speak of it, if thee’d wish it so. It’s such a pretty day.”

[the_seafarer]

"You haven't," he promises, putting his other arm around her and holding her closer. "I only worry for you, dear."

He knows and knows well that life isn't always the happiness he wishes for her, and he knows too that she's witnessed and felt tragedy and heartbreak, that she was taken from her world too young, hardly having lived at all.

But it doesn't stop him wishing. "It is a pretty day. But whenever you're ready, Su, pretty day or no, I'll listen. If you like."

[sai_delgado]

“Thee should know,” she murmurs. “Before the day comes. But—“

Would it be easier? For him to hear it now, like a quick, clean cut, rather than draw it out to another time and leave him wondering?

Susan thinks of her father, and what he’d advise her, and gathers her courage in both hands.

“Mayhap we could find somewhere to sit,” she suggests. “By the water?”

[the_seafarer]

"Yes, of course."

He presses a kiss to her hair and loosens his embrace to let her go, though he stays close. "There's a likely spot, over there in the sunlight."