He remembered that day so clearly. The moment he left her side for a brief instant to bring her a cup of tea from the hot stove. He came back to find her dead on her bed, her eyes still fixed on the window as if she wanted to watch the falling snow for all eternity. The sweetness of her last smile was forever etched within his memory.
Spring and summer meant little more than a few more hours of sun on this part of the mountain. Autumn was full of colorful sunsets, but so brief you could hardly call it a season. Anybody who spent more than a couple of years here would agree, Winter’s Den Mountain was indeed full worthy of it’s name.
Someone –an old friend from ages past– once warned him about the risks of falling in love, especially with human creatures. Still, the knowledge of how brief her life would be compared to his had turned their years together into a precious jewel he would always carry deep within his heart. Perhaps –he thought– immortals need to fall in love once in a while, just to be reminded of the preciousness of life and keep them from becoming cold and distant monsters.
The dark months were almost here again. As if heeding his unspoken call, the first snowflakes of the season gently brushed his face, reminding him of the soft touch of her hand against his cheek.
A sudden cold breeze brought him back from his memories. He pulled the old coat’s collar up his neck, watched for a moment the first small patches of snow forming on the earth around him, and followed the whistling call of teapot back into the cabin… for a cup of tea.