Demon-struck // Cole & the Astvios
It was going to be a long, harsh winter, was what they seemed to be saying. The siblings heard it from the traders they passed, from men on the roads, from whispers in taverns and gossips in towns. Everywhere they went, there seemed to be talk of it - fear of deep snows to ensnare travellers, of colds to freeze livestock, of ice to break their horses' legs and ruin trade.
And yet, the more that Isolfr saw, she could only presume these men to be weak men - if the winter they had seen so far was any indication of what these northerners saw as 'harsh', it would be doing them a favour if the colds killed them off. This was not harsh - this was little more than ankle-deep snow and grey skies. Tchah! Those pitiful men should travel south, and try to eke out their livings in the wilds there! There, it was not a harsh winter until you could not see the top of your hut for the snow - it was not harsh until the winds had turned your fingers black and bitten away your skin. These weak, warm-blooded northerners knew nothing of winter!
Full of disdain for those men - no, they were not men - they should have removed their organs and worn dresses, for all that they were worth their gender - she had dismissed her brother's talk of finding a tavern for the night and opted instead to set up camp on the outskirts of the latest town that they had come across. Those godless settlements did not sit well with her - they were full of staring eyes, of men worth no more than sheep, men who knew nothing of the god and would gain her nothing for their company. She would much rather sleep beneath the open skies than in their piss-stinking taverns.
Crouched in the snows, she glanced up from where she was building a fire within a circle of stones. Her brother was hunkered perhaps four paces from her as he had been for the past half hour, staring distractedly at the silhouette of an abandoned farmhouse, and she clicked her tongue at him for his attention. "What is it?"
Shifting a little from his thoughts, the godspeaker pushed himself to his feet, the amulets in his hair chiming as he did so. "The villagers say this place is haunted," he said, gesturing to the building with a flick of his chin.
"And this scares you?" she said, baring her sharp teeth in a grin. "Tchah - you are not a child, Nikos. Only babes fear tales."
"It is not that," he said, too used to her scorn to be insulted by it. "There is... something. I can feel it."
Her gaze intensified a little. "A demon?"
"Perhaps," he agreed, pulling a bowl from his pack. "I will fetch snow for water; do not leave."
"Do not trip on your own feet, child Nikos," she retorted, with a burst of rough laughter.
Shaking his head in amusement, he slung the bowl under his arm, and with his other hand fingered the long hilt of a knife at his hip. He had not been lying - there was something there, in that building, pulling at the corner of his mind. Too curious to pass up investigating but not so foolish as to not go unarmed, he stepped lightly over the snows, eventually kneeling some paces from that empty doorway to scoop handfuls of snow into the vessel. As he worked, his gaze never once strayed from that blackened entrance. Whatever was in there, he would not sleep comfortably until his curiosity was sated...