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When the days grew shorter and the nights colder in Solistia, the northern frosts would creep ever downward. Along and over the mountain ranges of the Crestlands and–once in a blue moon–would bring with it a dusting of snow. It had been the first time in some few years that Flamechurch had seen snow, but it was no excuse for a cleric to shirk his duties, the Pontiff had said.
“There!” Roi announced, after tucking Temenos’s smaller fingers into his mittens. “Nice and warm.” He grinned widely, pulling the hood of his cloak up to protect against the cold. Temenos brought his hands close. Exhaling heat upon them and wiggling them as much as the soft leather would allow. The boy then nodded to his best friend, determined to brave the cold and tend to their daily chores together. There was grain to mill, wool to clean, and most of all: snow to shovel.
“Hold a moment,” Pontiff Jorg called after them, before kneeling at the younger boy’s side. “Here, Temenos.” His Holiness said kindly, producing a scarf in a blinding crimson color. Far brighter in shade and distinct in hue than the humble cornflowers of the clergy. His Holiness brushed back the boy’s silver hair and smiled. The lines of his face showed many such years of pride and joy. “White hair, white cloak. I’ll very well lose you in the snow, my son.”
Temenos gasped softly, terrified at the thought of vanishing into the endless white now swallowing their little village. He clutched at the scarf like a lifeline before offering up his hand to His Holiness. “Would you… keep me close then?” Mirth crinkled the Pontiff’s eyes and pulled at his cheeks before he took the boy’s hand in his own. “You too, Roi.” He continued with a pout, shoving his other hand out for the older boy to take. He, too, graciously took the offered hand without complaint. Giving it a reassuring squeeze before their little flock left to feed the livestock.
Flamechurch was more buried than Temenos had ever seen, and the threat of being swallowed up by it seemed all the more real. He held tighter to the two most important people in the world to him as they ventured first to the grazing fields for the sheep. It was a fairly large area, and all entirely enclosed by fencing, so with a touch of reluctance, Temenos released the hands tethering him so that they could get to work.
First was the task of waking the sheep who did not want to leave their stalls. Even with their woolen coats, some ornery sorts did not want to abandon the warmth. Then it was time to ensure the safety of that warmth, by brushing away snow off the sheep’s fleece and fluffing the straw of the sleeping stalls. Their wool coats would do much to keep the herd warm, but only if well maintained. Moisture could slip between the layers of fleece and rot their skin and defenses easily.
Temenos didn’t mind caring for them though, it was hard not to. The young cleric was sure only love could exist in the fluffy hearts of lambs. The way they eagerly bounded over to people, starved for attention. Sniffling at hair or lightly headbutting when denied such basic necessities. But they were also quiet and gentle. Easily becoming in tune with their favored humans.
On days when dark feelings of sadness or anger swirled within Temenos, the easy company of Juniper or Anise made the clouds in him dissipate. The boy sat by the edge of the sleeping stalls, scratching the chin of a late summer lamb named Fennel. Those dark clouds began to stir now and the boy needed the lamb’s love. His Holiness was bringing fresh feed in for the sheep with Roi’s help. It was ‘big boy’s’ work, the Pontiff had said, and Temenos never liked that. Roi was only three years older than Temenos, and he could lift just as much as his friend! They always coddled him. Always treated him like a baby. He and Fennel were a lot alike in that way. The youngest of their flocks. The ones always babied.
Temenos looked out over the fields as he waited for Roi and the Pontiff to return. It seemed like the snow was starting to fall again. The landscape much like bright new paper His Holiness often gifted Temenos. He wanted to decorate it much the same. With paints or wax or drawings, so he set out for the center, and drew his first line with his footsteps. Fennel bounced after the young cleric’s heels, just as eager to see what he would create. When the boy reached the field’s center, he collected handfuls of snow before smashing them together. The loose material fluttered about the air before Temenos packed and refined it into a perfectly shaped snowball. He smiled to himself, and Fennel bleated in excitement.
The boy offered the snowball to Fennel as he toyed further with the snow beneath him. He wondered how big of a snowball he could make in this pasture. If he could draw patterns in the field with his path or make giant snow sculptures. That decided it–he would roll up a huge snowball. Maybe big enough to roll up the whole village, just to show how strong he was. So he got to work.
Beneath his feet he placed his perfect snowball and began spiraling outward. Building up mass and making the most of his space. It was slow work, but he made steady progress. Fennel was always right at Temenos’s side, skipping along after him, until finally, when the snowball was at waist height, the lamb began using it as a springboard. Running and jumping onto and off of her new perch. Everytime Temenos began pushing his snowball, she took the opportunity to bound off of it, but the moment he stopped, suddenly it was not so interesting. She couldn’t be persuaded to stop, and after several attempts, nearly toppled the cleric in the process. She stood tall on her perch, like a toy pony rearing for battle. At first, the mischief was annoying, but after a while, Temenos could not help but laugh behind his mittens. Fennel would not be dissuaded, so the boy decided to take a different approach. He would add another layer atop the snowball to stop her silly hops, while still paying tribute to the lamb’s fierce battle prowess. He would make that snow sculpture he promised before, (though far smaller in scale now) and brighten up this wide field. He would make a snow-lamb.
Several snowballs later, and the snow-lamb was coming along. Adorned lovingly with round stones turned downwards, to make gentle doe eyes. Maple leaves that were pulled from the grounds below to make the sweet floppy ears. And a loving smile beneath the sharp snoot.
“What’cha makin’?” said a voice suddenly from behind. Temenos nearly jumped out of his skin and turned on his intruder; it was Roi, trying to hide a laugh behind his hands before he burst out in amusement.
“Roi!!” Temenos barked, stomping a boot and giving his friend a light shove. “You did that on purpose!” His friend giggled more before peeking up at Temenos. “You’re right, I did.” He easily admitted. “But I couldn’t help it, you were having so much fun that we finished without you. With the sheep anyways.”
“Huh?” Temenos looked around and saw that the sun had risen far into the sky, before the boy curled back in on himself. Embarrassed that he had played while Roi and His Holiness worked. But Roi didn’t seem bothered, rounding on Temenos and pressing further with his question. “So, what’cha makin’? A snowman?” Temenos looked away, but presented his creation all the same.
“A snow-lamb, Roi.”
The other boy scratched his chin and gave the sheep a once over. Looking at it up and down with a critical eye as though he was a master critic. “It’s good,” He finally concluded, nodding to himself, “but I didn’t know you wanted to marry a sheep.”
“What?!” Temenos spat incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?!” He cried.
“Ohhhhh wait, you probably don’t remember. You were too little.”
“Too little for what?” Temenos countered, puffing out his quickly reddening cheeks.
“It was a couple years ago,” Roi explained, “the last time it snowed like this. Sister Pennyroyal says that when you make a snowman, it’s supposed to look like who you’ll fall in love with!”
Temenos continued to pout and not meet his friend’s eyes. Wanted to say how that was dumb to avoid further embarrassment, but when the boy glanced back at his snow-lamb, he could not come to hate it. It’s sweet little eyes and a crooked smile…
“Well, marrying a lamb wouldn’t be so bad.” He settled. “Lambs are much better than people anyways.”
***
“Temenos…” The man stirred lightly at the sound of his name. He had hardly passed through the veil of sleep at all, so returning was both far too easy, and far too exhausting. He felt large hands tuck loose hairs behind his ear. “Temenos… I know y– m— -e -ired –...” The cleric groaned, rousing enough to bury himself further into Crick’s chest and away from his prodding. “What could it possibly be, my dear…?” He complained, muffled through the wall of Crick’s chest. Temenos felt the press of a kiss to the top of his head before more plying and apologies.
“I know- I know, I’m sorry, but just look-” Temenos groaned further, but extracted himself from the warmth of his love to see what exactly was the matter. He blinked away the blurry sands of sleep in his eyes and followed the line of Crick’s arm. Pointing towards their bedside window. Beyond was the ashen grey sky and-... snowflakes gently falling.
It was still before dawn by the time the two bundled up and Crick managed to drag Temenos out into the newly falling snow. Temenos wasn’t entirely sure how his love managed such a feat, or how he was so transfixed by something entirely mundane, that perhaps Temenos just couldn’t quite help himself. The cleric watched as Crick’s gaze never left the sky.
Temenos leaned against Crick’s shoulder, and squeezed his hand just a little more. “One would think you would have grown tired of the snow after your tenure in Stormhail, my love.” He expected his lamb to fluster at that. Deny or explain away such childlike awe, but he did not. His gaze ever leveled at the horizon, smile twitching as he formed the words.
“It’s different here.” He finally spoke. “The snow is gentle. Soft and inviting.” His eyes fell shut in reverent thought. “Stormhail is unyielding, hardening her soldiers for battle. Making them endure hardship and cruelty. But here…” Temenos watched him silently, and suddenly, Crick’s face split with a wide smile. “It’s like a kiss, from a little wet nose.”
A strange breeze blew then.
***
It snowed the entire winter that Roi vanished. Ceaseless and unrelenting all season long. Temenos left their once-shared home very little. He kept the windows shut and the curtains drawn. He hardly even bothered to light their home with warmth from the fireplace. Nothing of Roi’s was touched; for it was both too hard to look upon or consider, and for it felt like accepting the unthinkable. When the winds ceased and spring finally broke, Temenos was named Inquisitor.
***
The sun was beginning to rise over the far horizon, the dark sky starting to glow with traces of dawn. It took Temenos back all those months ago, to the last great trial of his journey with the others. To see the sun rise after such an endless night was something beautiful to behold. He held himself as a yawn escaped his throat. Crick had promised they would go back inside to warm blankets and sleep soon, but there was but one thing he wanted to do first. His dear lamb would not say what, but promised it would not take long.
Temenos crossed his arms and stood in his boots shivering, watching as the dawn climbed fully into the sky, before eventually Crick called out to him. His little lamb came running, scarf tail fluttering in the wind. Though notably he was missing his cloak; perhaps he had grown too warm of it, the furnace that he was. Evident further by his cheeks flushed bright. He stopped just short of Temenos, almost with a little hop, before taking hold of his dearest’s hands.
“Okay, we can go home soon, but first I want to show you.”
An impish smile tugged at Temenos’s lips, “Show me?” He prompted further.
“Mm-mm…” His gaze shot down then, locked on their joined hands where Crick began rubbing nervous circles. “Yeah… You can’t look until I tell you to though.”
Temenos pulled his hands free to cradle his own cheek in false thought. “Dear me, the lamb leading his shepherd? What has it come to? But!” He exclaimed, cutting off both himself and the frown that was beginning to form on his beloved’s lip. “If my darling so wishes.”
Crick seemed to soften at that, smiling and humming in thought, before he rounded on Temenos and covered his eyes. “I don’t believe you.” He whispered into his ear before punctuating with a kiss to the shell of it.
It was Temenos’s turn to frown. Puffing out his cheeks and stomping his foot. “Oh, you are no fun.”
“It was you who taught me to doubt.” Crick said, before beginning to guide his love forward. Temenos exhaled at that. Perhaps his lamb was not so little anymore. He had grown so much since they first met, and in ways Temenos had not even fully realized.
“Here.” He breathed against his ear before removing his hands, blinding Temenos to the light reflecting from the snow. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw… himself. Snow piled and sculpted into his own image. Stones set into their sockets to mimic his sharp eyes, a tree limb with a forked end sticking from the bottom to imitate the Staff of Judgement, and even Crick’s own cloak draped around the shoulders to complete the piece.
“It’s you!” Crick said, as though it could be anything but. There was plenty more that Temenos could prod at than just that. The way Crick had gotten his height all wrong, or that he sculpted his hair parting in the wrong direction, but Temenos felt warm despite the cold. Shuffling forward to get a better look at his snow-self. “It is, isn’t it? It’s wonderful, my lamb.”
Somehow that seemed to embarrass Crick more, and he bloomed hotly before joining Temenos’s side again. “You’re just so creative, you know? You’ve recreated me countless times in your art or stories that, well,” He trailed off there, concluding his thought instead by taking hold of Temenos’s hand. Temenos smiled, and held his hand back.
“But, he looks a little cold don’t you think?” Temenos teased. “You graciously offered your cloak, but surely that’s not enough to keep him warm?” Crick hummed in thought before pulling away. “You’re right, how silly of me.” He said, before beginning to unfurl the scarf wrapped around his shoulders, when suddenly, Crick hooked the length of fabric over Temenos’s head and began fastening it. “He’ll be much warmer now.” He said with a sly smile.
Temenos fell silent, (his dear lamb could be surprisingly suave when he wanted to be) as his fingers came to toy at the frayed edges of the scarf.
***
“There you boys are.” His Holiness called after finding his sons still idling in the grazing fields. The boys and Fennel turned towards the sound, and while Roi waved excitedly at the Pontiff, Temenos folded his arms and curled in slightly on himself, his frustration and embarrassment growing with each new person. “There we are,” His Holiness said with a hearty sigh as he knelt down to join his sons. “And what have we here?”
Temenos answered, but only by mumbling unintelligibly against the layers of his winter clothes.
“Hmm? Did you make this Temenos?
“He did! It’s a snow-lamb!” Roi answered for him–very unhelpfully–and suddenly Temenos felt far too warm behind his scarf.
“Why, how lovely. You always are so talented Temenos,”
Yet the boy only squeezed tighter and tighter in on himself. Hoping that he would grow so small he would vanish before their eyes. But such magic was beyond his grasp, and worse yet was the Pontiff noticing these failed attempts and the pained scrunched up expression on his brow.
“Dear me, what is the matter my boy?”
“You did lose me!” Temenos said all in a rush, much like exhaling the breath he was holding. “N-no it was even worse! You and Roi left me!” But the moment the words escaped Temenos, he immediately regretted them. Then the regret turned further still into sadness. Fennel bleated in surprise before coming to rub against his legs. The boy pet Fennel before he tugged at the crimson scarf still wrapped around his shoulders. The scarf that was supposed to keep him safe. Keep him from getting lost. Keep him from getting abandoned.
“You said you wouldn’t lose me with this…” He concluded weakly. His Holiness exchanged a look with Roi before he smiled at the boy’s turned back.
“I did, didn’t I? I promised not to lose you Temenos, and for that I am sorry.” The boy’s resolve, already weak, faltered further. “But I watched as you made your snow-lamb, and wished that it not get lost either.”
Temenos sniffled and finally relented, turning to face the Pontiff with confused eyes. The Pontiff smiled kindly in return.
“In making them, you have become their shepherd, and they too, do not want to stray so far.”
The boy turned to face his lamb and wiped away the tears welling in his eyes. He had become their shepherd? And they would get lost without him too? The boy looked at the scarf the Pontiff had given him, so that he might not stray so far, and after another moment of deliberation, Temenos slowly pulled it away, and began to wrap it around his lamb, so that he would not lose it to the snow either.
***
Yes… all that time ago. Temenos had almost forgotten it, as it sat on the cusp on his memories. But they returned to him overwhelmingly strong. Those soft little eyes and fluffy curls of wool he sculpted on his snow-lamb. The same tears that tickled the cheeks of his younger self now danced at his eyelashes and–despite himself–Temenos laughed. Suddenly warmed to the bone that after all these years, it was true. His snow-lamb had returned to him. He had gotten lost once or twice, but he always came home, and returned the scarf once lent. Temenos’s cheeks burned bright and hot, and a grin bloomed wide and true, before he took hold of Crick’s hands–his beloved, sweet, soft, and dearest little lamb–and began to drag him home.
“Come now, Roi will be worried sick about us.”