The Alpines seem quiet this morning. So quiet, that you cannot seem to place anything as out of place. Yes. Everything seems to be in order. There is no pull, no heaviness in the air. There is only the silence of your paw steps and your gentle conversation with your friend. There is no twinkle in the snow. There are no drums in your ears. There are no exploding runes — not today. Not here.
Perhaps, and only perhaps, if you were listening closely, you might hear a whisper on the breeze. A soft, but discouraging, murmur.
An hire,it would whisper.
Not here.
The words would echo softly against your ears, fleeting.
And then you are left alone once more. Left only with your thoughts and your longing.