And don't forget my Rainy Day Blogfest is happening
I happen to like weather in fiction. I don't think enough of us indoor-dwellers pay attention to what is happening outside our climate controlled environments. In my novel the characters are outside most of the time (except when they're underground) and so rain, snow, wind, etc. are a constant influence on their ability to Get Things Done.
This is a scene after a skirmish in the mountains. Faldur is trying to get an injured Marenya to safety. She's unconscious on a makeshift stretcher.
“How far do you reckon we have to go?” asked Brilward, looking at the sky. It was early afternoon but the light was fading fast; a storm was coming.
“To the bottom." Faldur tone was harsher than he intended.
They started off, marching the prisoners ahead of them and carrying Marenya in turns. The wind turned bitter. Large flakes of snow began to swirl down and land on their clothes and hair. Faldur feared they would lose sight of the path if it began to accumulate. One of the prisoners admitted to knowing the way, and agreed to guide them.
By the time they reached the tree line, the snow was falling fast and thick, covering the ground in a slippery blanket. Faldur was worried about Marenya. Her lips were turning blue and he could barely detect her breathing. The trees were huge pines, weighted down with snow so that their lower branches created a kind of tent under which the company could find shelter from the cold. Faldur sent two soldiers ahead to find Lord Tarnbel. In his heart, he secretly wished for Rangers, but the soldiers were reliable fellows and would have to do. He only hoped they didn’t lose their way.
He chose a group of trees that were roughly in a circle together and divided up the hamen, directing them to take cover under them. They cast hiding spells over their locations, and set pairs of sentries up to watch. The snow which hindered them would also hide their tracks, and the cold air and pine sap would help mask their scent. They would be safe enough for the night.
Faldur laid Marenya on the thick bed of needles beneath one of the trees. He broke away the dead lower branches to make more room for the both of them. He didn’t dare start a fire for fear of setting the tree alight, but wrapped her in his cloak and lay down next to her. He arranged his body over hers so as to give her as much warmth as possible, wrapping her torso in his arms and pressing his face to her cheek. Without invitation, the lioness pushed through the branches and lay on Marenya’s other side. She placed her face very close to the hawin’s, seeming to want to warm her breath for her, and stayed that way, nose to nose, for a long time. Finally, she lowered her head and slept.
Faldur, however, could not sleep. He lay awake in the gathering darkness, listening to the moaning of the wind and the occasional rustle of snow falling through the branches. After a while he felt that his body had fallen dormant, but his mind was as clear and sharp as the night air. The snow gradually stopped and the wind fell. It became absolutely quiet, and absolutely dark.
Marenya was as still as death. He closed his eyes and sought her. She was still there, but faintly. A coldness seeped through him that was not from the ground.