The winter of the year the Black Rose War broke out was exceptionally cold. The air seemed to freeze into powder and gently drift down from the gray sky.
Jert had been lurking in the shrubs on the mountaintop all night and was almost frozen stiff.
He reached out to catch the powder falling from the sky. A slight coolness in his palm, the ice crystals melted on his hand — snowflakes. The young man, still wearing his seemingly eternal green robe of a String Mage Apprentice, looked up at the sky.
It's snowing.
The first snow of the year.
He couldn't help but think of the frequent conversations between Lord Char and that young lord, mentioning the situation in the North, the fate of the Duke's allied army and the Princess...
"The war in the North has been delayed until after the first snow..."
