November 30th prompt "Value"

A/N: The music I chose for this is a truly beautiful, evocative and heartfelt piece called Síocháin Shuthain by the very talented young composer Adrian Von Ziegler.  

Snow swept like a whirling dervish as the icy winds blasted it mercilessly through the valley. Flakes swirled and danced between tall spindly firs, settling then shifting as they were carried further into the woods, like a somewhat ghostly guide.

A lone figure battled against the elements. Trudging through the drifts, he pulled the thick bear-skin mantle tightly around his shoulders while gripping a leather satchel in numb fingers. Blinking against the winds he followed the swirling snow and headed for the small yellow glow of a cabin window at the centre of the woods.

Nearing exhaustion he stood at the door, vapour billowing from his chapped lips. He raised his hand to knock. The door creaked open.

Inside, a warm fire beckoned. On a pivotal crane arm a pot of hot coffee was suspended; the aroma rich and welcoming.

"Come in," a soft voice spoke. It held a resonance of chimes, almost celestial.

The man, keen to be warm and dry again accepted the invitation willingly. He stepped over the threshold, a dusting of snow blowing in with him. The door closed of its own volition.

"Please, sit," another voice spoke from across the room. This one was warm, vibrant.

"Thank you," the man croaked. He moved to the fire and relished the heat. Frost-blades and snowflakes on his fur mantle melted rapidly in the warmth. He pulled the thick scarf from his head and neck. His hair, clamped to his face, soon dried to silvery strands just brushing his shoulders.

"Drink," the first voice said. The man did as he was told and poured some of the coffee into a tin cup. Before long, he started to feel more like himself.

"Did you enjoy your time with Sumra?" the first voice asked.

The man stared into the flames as he answered. "Yes, I did, very much. I have many, many happy memories of back then."

The second voice then enquired, "And what of Feallan? Were those days spent happily too?"

The man sighed. "Feallan..." He seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts. "It was beautiful, to begin with, but as time passed a great sorrow befell me." A sob caught in his throat.

The chimes tinkled rapidly as they neared the man. "And what have you learned?"

He took a deep breath. "To value life," he answered. "My beautiful Mhairi - I could not save her. I tried but failed. I blamed my boy. For years I cursed that he was born, for as he grabbed his first breath, my Mhairi took her last." His voice broke. "In the pit, I fell, despondent, morose, full of anger and loathing. But, as I entered the winter of my life he became my saving grace."

"Drink," the voice encouraged. "Your journey is almost at an end."

Again, the man did as he was told. A shadow appeared at his feet. Slowly he raised his eyes. There before him stood a beautiful woman, her skin a glacier blue, sparkling with millions of frozen dew drops, icicles and snowflakes. Oddly, none seemed to melt before the fire.

"I am Brumal; Winter," she said in answer to his unspoken question. "You have been within my wintry embrace for a number of years now. It is almost time for you to step through the Gateway. But you must tell us first how you learned to value life once more."

Keen to unburden his soul he explained. "My son told me that I was more fortunate than he for I had known his mother and he had not. He encouraged me to talk about her; of the times we'd shared, places we'd visited, people we'd met. And in so doing I realised she lived in him." Tears fell, splashing on the hearth. His brow furrowed, puzzled. He sounded different. Younger.

The second voice now spoke. "Have you brought the items?"

"Yes," the man said eagerly.

A slender hand reached forward. "If I may?"

Quickly he laid down the cup and picked up his satchel. Opening it, he produced a small hand-painted portrait of a woman, a lock of golden hair, a wedding band and a small cloth doll and handed them over. 

The woman who took them was equally as beautiful as Brumal, but she was glowing, her skin pulsing with every colour of the spectrum. She smiled. "I am Floruit. I will walk through the Gateway with you and bless you with your new life which you will share with your Mhairi." She turned the doll over in her hand, her eyes questioning.

"That is a special gift for her," he explained. "I wish to make amends and show her how I loved our son and equally now, our granddaughter, who Mhairi has never met."

With a wave of her hand, Brumal made the fireplace vanish and the Gateway opened in its place. A shimmering reflective oval showed the man he was no longer old and weather-beaten. He was young as he had been when he first met his wife.

Floruit touched the oval and it opened up into a fresh green meadow dotted with daisies and poppies. Birdsong and butterflies filled the air. There, waiting for him was his beautiful Mhairi.

Floruit then spoke. "You have been through Sumra, Feallan and Brumal - the Summer, Autumn and Winter of life. Now it is time to embrace my gift - Spring; a new beginning, a time to grow once more. Value this journey and each other, for it is never-ending."