188 The Frostweaver

The wind gradually picked up speed, blowing the freshly fallen snow in Xander's face and chilling his bones. He could have sworn the weather was bright and sunny just a moment ago, but now the cloud-dappled sky looked pale and withered like a bearded old man.

As the clouds showered the plain with powdery white flakes, a misty veil obscured Xander's vision, preventing him from looking too far ahead. He could see only the tops of the closest trees through this unnatural haze.

"Why should the flowers wither away and leave nothing behind? Why should the bees stop singing?" The same cold voice echoed from the distance. "No, the snow shall preserve them all in eternal winter."

Xander desperately tried to back away and step outside the perimeter set by the fallen daggers of ice, but the extreme cold made him feel sluggish. Trapped in the center of the runic circle, he could feel his strength being sapped away as the cold made him shiver uncontrollably.