Alex Brown-Irwin

A Flower Made of Snowflakes

The Initiate heard his master’s voice as he sat, and he wasn’t sure if it was in his mind or his master was somewhere near by, hidden by the blackness of night. The snow had been steadily falling for days, covering him in a frigid sheet of white, and it was all he could do to keep from being consumed by the cold entirely. Occasionally, his body would convulse violently, spasming the excess snow off, only to have it replaced a few minutes later.